PS 







{ UM,ir.'n zi^^ 1 ,1 



^'TOll I'wi It.., , 




ch.. -P 5 3 5X1 
Book, ,7 .]4 ?4 "^ 1 



G^pgtitN". 



(^ o-a 



CI}E>«IGHT DEFGSm 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 



3y CLARE KUMMER 




SABPJEL FRENCH, 28-30 Wert 38th Si^NewYerk 



THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY. 

The famous comedy in three acts, by Antie Warner. 7 males, 6 
females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2Ji hours. 

This is a genuinely funny comedy with splendid parts for "Aunt 
Mary," "Jack," her lively nephew; "Lucinda," a New England an- 
cient maid of all work; ''JTack's" three chums; the Girl "Jack" loves; 
"Joshua," Aunt Mary's hired man, etc. 

"Aunt Mary" was played by M'ay Robson in New York and on tour 
for over two years, and it is sure to be a big success wherever pro- 
duced. We strongly recommend it. Price, 60 Cents. 



MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. 

A pleasing' comedy, in three acts, by Harry James Smith, author of 
"The Tailor-Made Man." 6 males, 6 females. One interior scene. 
Costumes modem. Flays 2^ hours. 

Mr. Smith chose for his initial comedy the complications arising 
from the endeavors of a social climber to land herself in the altitude 
peopled by hyphenated names — a theme permitting innumerable com- 
plications, according to the spirit of the writer. 

This most successful comedy wa» toured for several seasons by Mrs. 
Fiske with enormous success. Price, 60 Cents. 



MRS. TEMPLE'S TELEGRAM. 

A most successful farce in three acts, by Frank Wyatt and Wil- 
liam Morris. S mates, 4 females. One interior scene stands through- 
out the three acts. Costumes modern. Plays 25^ hours. 

"Mrs. Temple's Telegram" is a sprightly farce in which there is 
an abundance of fun without any taint of impropriety or any ole- 
ment of offence. As noticed by Sir Walter Scott, "Oh. what a 
tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive." 

There is not a dull moment in the entire farce, and from the time 
the curtain rises until it makes the final drop the fun is fast and 
i^rtous. A very exceptional farce. Price, 60 Cents. 



THE NEW CO-ED. 

A comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "Tempest and 
Sunshine," etc. Characters, 4 males, 7 females, though any number 
of boys and girls can be introduced in the action of the play. One 
intcrisr and one exterior scene, but can be easily played in one inte- 
rior scene. Costtunes modern. Time, about 2 houw. 

The theme of this play is the coming of a new student to the col- 
kge, her reception by the scholars, her trials and final triumph. 

Tliere are three especially good girls' parts. Letty, Madge and 
Estelle, but the others have plenty to do. "Punch" Doolittle and 
Get»rge Washington Watts, a gentleman of color, are two particularly 
■rood comedy characters. We can strongly recommend "The New 
Co>£d" to high schools and amateurs. Price, 30 Cfints. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced). 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-JO West 38th Streat. N«w York City I 

Ntw aid Expticit Dsscripfivi Catalogue Malleil Free on Requeal \ 

..•■■-A 



\ 



RoUo's Wild Oat '''^^ 

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 

By 
CLARE KUMMER 



Copyright, 1932, by Samuel French 



All Rights Reserved 



CAUTION : Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned 
that "ROLLO'S WILD OAT," being fully protected 
under the copyright laws of the United States and Great 
Britain, is subject to a royalty, and any one pre- 
senting the play without the consent of the author or 
his authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by 
law provided. Applications for the amateur acting rights 
m_ust be made to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, 
New York. 



New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 
2S-30 West 38th Street 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

Strand 



■^'4^ 



Especial notice should be taken that the possession of 
this book without a valid contract for production first 
having been obtained from the publisher, confers no right 
or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play 
publicly or in private for gain or charity. 

In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading 
public only, and no performance, representation, produc- 
tion, recitation, or public reading may be given except by 
special arrangement with Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th 
Street, New York. 

This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment 
of a royalty of Twenty-Five Dollars for each perform- 
ance, payable to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, 
New York^ one week before the date when the play is 
given. 

Whenever the play is produced the following notice must 
appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the 
play : "Produced by special arrangement with Samuel 
French of New York." 

Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for 
any infringement of the author's rights, as follows : 

"Section 4966 : — Any person publicly performing or rep- 
resenting any dramatic or musical composition for which 
copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the 
proprietor of said dramatic or musical compositions, or his 
heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, 
such damages, in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not 
less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dol- 
lars for every subsequent performance, as to the court 
shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and 
representation be ^vilful and for profit, such person or 
persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon con- 
viction shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one 
year."— U. S. Revised Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3. 



SEP 23*22 



"ROLLO'S WILD OAT" 

CAST 
(In order of their appearance) 

Hewston Rollo's Man 

Lydia Rollo's sister 

RoLLO Webster A youth with aspirations 

Mr. Stein A theatrical manager 

GoLDiE MacDuff An actress 

George Lucas An actor 

Mrs. Park-Gales ^ 

Whortley Camperdovvn y .All of the profession 

Thomas Skitterling J 

Aunt Lane Rollo's great-aunt 

Horatio Webster Rollo's grandfather 

Bella Housemaid at the Webster's 

(Mrs. Gales and Bella can double in the play. Also 
Horatio Webster and either Camperdown or 
Skitterling.) 



ACT I 

Scene i : Rollo's studio, Central Park West, Nezv 

York City. 
Time: Twelve o'clock on a morning in early Spring. 
Scene 2 : The same, the following evening. 

ACT II 

Scene i : Rollo's dressing room, the Oddity The- 
atre. 
Scene 2 : On the stage, that very moment. 

ACT III 

Scene i : Sitting room. Grandfather Webster's 

house, Shelbrooke. A fezu hours later. 
Scene 2 : The same, the following morning. 



Rollo's Wild Oat 



ACT I 

Scene i : A duplex apartment: a large studio, with 
a stairway, practical, and balcony zuhich runs 
across rear of scene. This leads to Rollo's 
bedroom. Below is swing door leading into 
kitchenette. The room is artistically furnished. 
Contains a baby grand piano and some good 
chairs and a table. There are rugs hanging over 
the balcony and sojne tall Japanese jars contain- 
ing artificial cherry blossoms. The effect of 
the room in color is gold and blue, and it is 
Japanese in character. 

At Rise: On curtain, door-bell buzzer. Enter 
Hewston from the kitchenette, pulling on his 
coat. Hewston is a very superior gentleman's 
gentleman — rather melancholy in appearance. 
He goes to door r.c. — admits Lydia. She is an 
attractive girl of eighteen, smartly dressed. She 
enters briskly as though she had a right to be 
there. 

Hewston. Really, you should not have come up, 
Miss Lydia. 

Lydia. (l. of ehair R.) I don't know what you 
5 



6 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

mean, Hewston, saying that I can't come up to my 
own brother's studio. 

Hewston. ^r. of chair rJ It's only that I had 
strict orders, Miss, not to let anybody up. 

Lydia. Well, a sister isn't anybody, Hewston — 
she is not included in such orders. (Lydia lays fur 
neckpiece on the piano.) Please remember that in 
future. Where is my brother? 

Hewston. Mr. Rollo is not up yet, Miss. 

Lydia. Not up ! 

Hewston. He was out late last night and he said 
he was going to have a very busy day and didn't 
wish to be disturbed before twelve. 

Lydia. fL.c.j A busy day! When is he going 
to begin to have it? You'd better wake him up, 
Hewston. 

Hewston. No, Miss. I'm getting paid to carry 
out Mr. Rollo's instructions and carry them out I 
shall. 

Lydia. If he does pay you, Hewston, it will be 
out of the money Grandfather gave him to go into 
business with. 

Hewston. As to that I can't say, Miss. 

Lydia. And do you think Grandfather would 
have given him the money if he had thought Mr. 
Rollo was going to leave home and come in town and 
take a studio and have you — and everything? 

Hewston. As to that I can't say. Miss. 

Lydia. (Sits c.r. of table c.) Grandfather thinks 
it was a dreadful thing for you to do, Hewston, to 
leave us without a moment's notice. You know it's 
impossible to get anyone in the country this time of 
year. 

Hewston. Yes, Miss. Don't think I have it so 
easy here. All there is to this place is what you see, 
and Mr. Rollo's bedroom upstairs. I've got no place 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 7 

to sit when he has callers but the sink in the kitchen- 
ette. (Buzz kitchenette.) 

Hewston. Mr. Rollo's tray. 

(Exit Hewston into kitchenette. Lydia goes to 
piano and begins to play briskly.) 

Lydia. (Singing) 

I love to wander in the spring, 
When tiny birds are darting high, 
I love to wander in the spring, 
And drink my fill — and drink my fill — 
Of sun and sky. 

(RoLLO enters in dressing gown and slippers. He 
stands on balcony, looking down at Lydia. She 
looks lip. RoLLO is a rather serious young man 
of twenty-two or twenty-three.) 

RoLLO. If you love to wander in the spring, don't 
let me detain you. (Comes down stairway.) So 
I'm not safe from your persecutions even here. 

Lydia. Hewston said you were going to have a 
busy day — I thought you'd better begin. 

RoLLO. Always thinking of others. 

Lydia. (^l.c. Leaving piano and coming to him 
with a coaxing smile) Rollo, please don't be cross 
because I came. 

Rollo. (r.c.) I'm not cross — the utter hope- 
lessness of getting away from my family depresses 
me, that's all. I'll feel better when I've had some- 
thing to eat. 

(Hewston enters with tray.) 

Hewston. Will you have it down here, sir? 
Rollo. (Sits r. of table) Yes. Try and keep as 
many people out as possible while I'm eating my 



8 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

breakfast, will you, Hewston? (As Hewston sets 
tray on table.) 

Lydia. (Sitting l. of table) It wasn't Hewston's 
fault that I came up, Rollo. He told me not to! 
But I told the elevator man you expected me. 

Rollo. I hope you told him you were my sister. 

Lydia. No, I didn't. Should I have? 

Rollo. Hewston, you'd better step out and tell 
the elevator man it was my sister that came up. Just 
mention it casually, you know. Don't say that's why 
you rang for him. 

Hewston. Yes, sir. (Starts R. to door.) What 
shall I say I rang for him to come up for? 

Rollo. Oh, anything. Ask him why the service 
is so bad at night when he's not on. That'll please 
him. 

(Hewston exits up r.) 

Lydia. (Eagerly) Rollo, please tell me. What 
are you going to do with your money ? 

Rollo. How's Grandfather? 

Lydia. He misses you dreadfully, Rollo, and so 
does Toby. Every time I go into your room he 
growls and barks so. 

RoLLO. Grandfather? Oh, Toby — well, why do 
you go into my room? 

Lydia. Because I miss you, too. 

(Hewston enters, starts for kitchenette.) 

Rollo. Isn't there some orange marmalade in the 

place, Hewston? 

Hewston. I'll see, sir. (Exits into kitchenette.) 
Lydia. Grandfather gave me a check for exactly 

the same amount he gave you, to do what / liked 

with — wasn't it dear of him? 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 9 

RoLLO. Yes. Have you got it with you ? 

Lydia. No. Fortunately, I haven't. 

RoLLO. Well, it doesn't matter. I don't need it 
yet. 

Lydia. RoUo, you're really going to begin to sow 
your wild oats, aren't you? 

Rollo. My dear, I am going to sow just one oat. 
If it doesn't turn out right, I shall hand myself over 
to Grandfather and become interested in 

Hewston. (Who has entered with jam) Orange 
marmalade, sir. 

Rollo. Thank you, Hewston. You can find most 
anything in that kitchenette, if you take the trouble 
to look. 

Hewston. You don't even have to trouble to look 
for a lot of things in there, sir. There's mice, too. 

Rollo. Thanks, I don't care for any. 

Lydia. One oat Tell me about it, Rollo. 

Rollo. How's Aunt Lane? 

Lydia. She's well. I left her at Wanamaker's. 

Rollo. Well, I hope she stays there. 

(Phone rings.) 

Hewston. (At phone) Mr. Stein — calling by 
appointment. 

Rollo. (Importantly — rising) Tell him to come 
up. 

Hewston. (Into phone) Mr. Stein can come up. 
(Exits.) 

RoLLO. (To Lydia J I should say so — now you've 
kept me talking all this foolishness — I don't want 
to see him in this dressing gown. 

Lydia. (Coming c.) I'll see him. I'll tell bin 
you'll be right down. 

Rollo. You will oblige me by going back to 



10 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Wanamaker's at once. (He hurriedly exits up the 
stairs.) 

Lydia. Hewston, you'd better take the tray. 

Hewston. (From outside in kitchenette) Just 
a moment, Miss. 

RoLLO. (Off) Hewston, where are my shoes? 

(Hewston, emerging from kitchenette, passes rap- 
idly up the stairs mith the shoes, containing shoe 
trees.) 

Hewston. Coming, sir. 

Lydia. (After a moment's hesitation, goes to 
piano. Sings) 

"I love to wander in the spring, 
When tiny birds are darting high. 

(Studio bell.) 

I love to wander in the spring, 
And drink my fill, and drink my fill 
Of sun and sky." 

(Bell rings again. Lydia goes to the door and opens 
it, admitting Mr. Stein.j 

Lydia. Come right in. 

Stein. (Going r.c.J I am calling to see Mr. 
Webster. 

Lydia. (r. of Stein J Yes, I know. I'm his — 
er — secretary. (She laughs a little, mischievously, 
then is serious.) No, I'm not really — I'm his sister. 

Stein. (Not believing her, smiles) I am Mr. 
Stein — Miss — er 

Lydia. Won't you take off your coat and put it 
somewhere ? 

Stein. Thanks. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT ii 

Hewston. (Coining dozvn the stairs) Let me 
take your coat. (Takes Stein's coat.) 
Stein. (^To Hewston j Mr. Webster? 
Lydia. (Giggling) No, that's Hewston. 

(^Hewston exits with tray.) 

Stein. I don't know him. 

Lydia. (Crossing l.) He's our — oh, well, it 
doesn't matter. Do sit down. I'll sit here. (On 
piano bench.) Are you fond of music, Mr. Stein? 

(Stein follows Lydia l. Sits l. of table,) 

Stein. I don't mind it. I hear so much of it in 
my business I've got used to it. 

Lydia. What is your business, Mr. Stein ? 

Stein. I am a theatrical manager. 

Lydia. A theatrical manager! It's a wonderful 
business, isn't it? To be able to make so much 
money and have so much fun at the same time. 

Stein. (Looking a little dubious) Are you a 
professional. Miss? 

Lydia. No, not yet. My grandfather is very 
much opposed to the stage. 

Stein. Oh, you've got a grandfather? 

Lydia. Yes, haven't you ? 

Stein. I suppose I had one, but I don't know 
where he is. 

Lydia. I wish I didn't know where mine was. 
(Both laugh.) Oh, I ought not to say that. He's a 
perfect darling at times. 

(Enter Rollo down the stairs with dignity.) 

RoLLO. Mr. Stein. Lydia, just a moment 

(Takes her aside R.cJ Wanamaker's! 



12 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

(Lydia takes her fur. Stein hows. Lydia makes 
a feint of going out, hut slips up the stairs near 
the door and goes into Rollo's hedroom un- 
seen.) 

RoLLO. Won't you smoke? (Offering cigarettes, 
which Stein refuses.) A cigar? (Stein assents. 
RoLLO looks for cigars in desk l.) And then let's 
get down to business. 

Stein. Yes, that's a good idea — because I haven't 
got very much time. (Goes r. of table.) 

(RoLLO finds cigars. Stein takes one. Bus. of 
lighting. Stein sits r. of table.) 

Stein. I was interested in 3^our letter, Mr. Web- 
ster, because it is just between seasons, you see, and 
I might take an interest in something — if it was all 
right. 

RoLLO. (Puts cigars back in desk. Going l. of 
table) Well, my proposition is very simple — no rea- 
son why we shouldn't understand each other from 
the start — if you are interested, all right — and if you 
are not, all right, too. 

Stein. (Not quite pleased) Well, Mr. Webster, 
the first thing I will say is — I've been in this busi- 
ness for twenty years and I confess I don't know 
anything about it. 

RoLLO. (Sitting l. of table) I see. W^ell, do 
you think that is a good thing? 

Stein. Well, it is a fact. What I mean to say is, 
if I knew what would be a successful play, I'd never 
put on anything else, but I don't know. Nobody 
knows. 

RoLLo. (Politely) I see. 

Stein. It's the public. You can't count on it. 
Give 'em something good and they'll go to see some- 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 13 

thing bad. Give 'em something bad and they don't 
like that either. 

RoLLO. I see. Well, of course, there's no trouble 
about my play. It's a great play and the critics will 
all like it. 

Stein. That's what they all think, Mr. Webster. 
No one ever wrote a bad play that knew it. 

RoLLO. Well, I didn't write this play, and when I 
say it's good I mean it's a play the critics will re- 
spect — so there'll be no trouble with them. They 
may not like my acting, but they can't find fault with 
the play — at least, they never have. 

Stein. Oh, it has been played before. What is 
the name of it, Mr. Webster? 

RoLLO. (Taking a cigarette) Hamlet. 

(There is a muttered exclanmtion and light glass 
crash from the kitchenette.) 

Stein. Hamlet. Do you think anyone wants to 
see it? 

RoLLO. They always have. It's lived all these 
years. 

Stein. Lived — but how? You're making a mis- 
take, Mr, Webster. If you've money to use in show 
business, take it from me, let Hamlet alone. 

RoLLO. No, Mr. Stein, I can't let Hamlet alone, 
because he won't let me alone. 

Stein. I'm sorry I asked Goldie to meet me here. 

RoLLO. Who is Goldie ? 

Stein. She's a little girl has got a lot of talent, 
Mr. Webster. Dances and might make a hit in a 
girl show, you know. 

RoLLO. (Thoughtfully) Oh ! 

Stein. A very pretty girl. 

RoLLO. Well, I'd like to see her. I've a dot of 
new ideas about producing the play — it's just pos- 
sible I might use her. 



14 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Stein. It ain't possible there's a Hamlet slipped 
by me, Mr. Webster. You're speaking of the old 
piece, ain't you, that's got "To be or not to be" in it ? 

RoLLO. Yes, "To be or not to be — whether 'tis 
better . . ." 

Stein. (Rising) I'm sorry, Mr. Webster, I wish 
I could do business with you, but I'm a man that 
don't like to see anyone throw their money away. 
Money is hard to get. 

RoLLO. Not always. (Phone rings. Enter Hews- 
TON from kitchenette.) Hewston, some Scotch and 
soda. 

Hewston. (At phone. To Rolloj It's Miss 
MacDuff calling. 

Stein. It ain't worth while to let her up. 

RoLLO. Oh, yes, if you don't mind, ask her to 
come up. 

Hewston. (Into phone) Let the young lady 
come up, please. (Exits into kitchenette.) 

RoLLO. I have leased a theatre. 

Stein. You have leased it? What theatre, Mr. 
Webster ? 

RoLLO. The Oddity. 

Stein. But it ain't finished yet. 

RoLLO. It will be when I get in it. 

Stein. (Crosses to table and sits r. of table) 
What are those new ideas you've got about produc- 
ing, Mr. Webster? 

RoLLO. Well, extreme simplicity, in the first place. 

Stein. It's been done to death. Unless you've 
got some new kind. W^hat do you mean by sim- 
plicity ? 

RoLLO. I would use the same set for every scene 
— just throwing on different-colored lights to give 
an effect of ghastliness, beauty, morning or evening, 
as the case might be. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 15 

Stein. The same set for a bedroom or a jail? 

RoLLO. Certainly. The text, the costumes, the 
lights tell the story. 

Stein. The costumes? People have gone to bed 
in a jail, you know, if they are unlucky enough. 

RoLLO. (Rising and crossing to R. of Steinj I 
know, but you never saw pink boudoir lights in a 
jail. Then I'd like to see a flight of steps leading 
down into the audience — and if at any time during 
the play some gifted auditor was moved to join in 
the performance, I'd like to allow it. I don't want 
to be separated from my audience. 

Stein. It's a good thing to be separated from 
them, Mr. Webster. It ain't the gifted ones usually 
that want to join in. I'm afraid those steps would 
lead to a general rough-house, especially with Ham- 
let. (Hewston enters with Scotch and soda.) Any 
more ideas, Mr. Webster? 

RoLLO. (Crossing to l. of table) Yes. With my 
very modern methods — perfect naturalness and sim- 
plicity — I would like to combine the old school in 
the other actors. Exemplifying the fact that Ham- 
let was a modern spirit — surrounded by old forms, 
old customs and traditions. All but OpheHa. I 
would have her just such a one as myself. 

(Door-hell huzzcr.) 

Stein. (Rising) You mean, have the part 
played by a man? 

(Hewston goes to door.) 

RoLLO. No, no. But modern, you know. Simple 
and natural. 

(Hewston opens door, announcing) 



i6 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Hewston. Miss MacDuff. 

(Enter Goldie. She is a girl of twenty-one or two, 
rather timid naturally, but brave as occasion 
may require. She is blond and has an expression 
of arch wistfulness. She is dressed in a plain 
blue serge tailor-made suit.) 

Stein. How do, Goldie? This is Mr. Webster. 

Goldie. I'm very glad to meet you. (Gives him 
her hand.) 

Stein. (Dropping down r.J I guess I got you 
here on a false alarm, Goldie. 

Goldie. Really? (Looking anxiously at Rollo.j 

Stein. Yes, Mr. Webster is going to play Shakes- 
peare. 

Goldie. Shakespeare ? Oh 

RoLLO. Does that mean horror, or admiration, or 
what? 

Goldie. Why, it doesn't mean anything — only 
that let's me out. 

Stein. If you'd 'ave come into my office yester- 
day, I could have put you into a nice little Revue — 
the Midnight Riot — a supper show, good money. 

Goldie. You know I can't do those things. 

RoLLO. Why ? 

Goldie. (Surprised, looking at him) It sounds 
so silly — I get sleepy about twelve o'clock. I'm used 
to going to bed early. 

Stein. Ain't that ridiculous? I never heard any 
one on the stage talk like you, Goldie. It's excite- 
ment keeps you awake — it's temperament, that's 
what does it. Ain't you got any? 

Goldie. I don't believe so. I'm relieved, of 
course, after it's over, if I haven't done anything 
too dreadful, but that's all. 



ROLLO^S WILD OAT 17 

Stein. And she's just made for it. Ain't it 
funny ? 

(There is a pause and Rollo looks thoughtful.) 

GoLDiE. I'm afraid we're taking Mr. Webster's 
time. 

Rollo. No, no, not at all. I was just thinking — 
(GoLDiE eyes him nervously.) In the play I'm going 
to do there is a very sweet, simple young girl, un- 
happy, you know — the way they usually are. 

GoLDiE. Which play is it, Mr. Webster? 

RoLLO. Why — er — Hamlet ! 

GoLDiE. Oh, Hamlet! 

Rollo. Yes, Hamlet — nothing to be airaid of, 
you know. It was just his name — just the way Rollo 
is mine. 

GoLDiE. Of course, only 

Rollo. Only what ? 

GoLDiE. Rollo seems so different — so much nicer. 

RoLLO. Awful name. I wouldn't have had it 
only my mother was so fond of reading — tell me, do 
you sing? 

GoLDiE. Hardly at all. 

Rollo. Well, that's quite enough. Ophelia goes 
mad, you know, and sings. 

GoLDiE. Well, I might do that. 

Stein. Mr. Webster, excuse me. Have I made a 
mistake ? Is this the old Hamlet, or have you maybe 
made some changes in it? Have you made it into a 
musical show? 

Rollo. No, I haven't. Shakespeare put songs in 
it for Ophelia. Not exactly songs, but fragments. 

Stetn. (Interested) Fragments! 

Rollo. I would like to hear you sing, but I can't 
play for you. 



l8 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

GoLDiE. Oh, I can play for myself. But I don't 
really think there's any use in it, do you? 

RoLLO. Yes. I don't know of anything more im- 
portant in the world! I don't think this piano is 
very good — but it has all the keys on it — please, 
won't you? 

(RoLLO goes to piano. He plays a little. Stein and 
GoLDiE down R.J 

Stein. I believe this fellow's a nut. You know, 
this show he's going to do may be very funny. 
GoLDiE. (Softly, reproachfully) Oh, Mr. Stein ! 

(Goldie goes to Rollo. Stein follows and sits at 
table.) 

Rollo. (After playing a few chords. Rising) 
Seems to be all right. Hewston must have oiled it 
this morning. Sing something sad — something 
about flowers — memories and albums and old for- 
get-me-nots and all that sort of thing. 

Goldie. (Sitting at piatio) Would one about 
roses do? 

Rollo. Yes, of course it would — is it sad? 
Goldie. Well — it's quite sad. 
• Rollo. Good. Go ahead. 
Goldie. (Begins to sing softly) 

"Blushing June roses to you I've given — " 
(Stops) No, that's wrong. 

Rollo. (Leaning over piano) It's beautiful — go 
on, please do. 
Goldie. (Sings) 

"Blushing June roses, breathing of Heaven, 
Dew on their petals like tears, ere I go, 
Blushing June roses to you I've given. 
They tell my story — I love you so.'* 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 19 

RoLLO. Perfectly beautiful. 

GoLDiE. Oh, no, it was dreadful ! 

RoLLO. It wasn't — isn't there more of it? 

GoLDiE. Oh, yes, that was just the refrain — but 
it's enough, I should think. 

RoLLO. But it isn't — do just begin it. 

GoLDiE. I can't — I can't sing — my voice is all 
gone. I've been crying. (Rises.) 

RoLLO. Crying? Oh, dear! Well, never mind, 
you've really sung quite enough — your voice is pa- 
thetic. 

GoLDiE. I should think so. 

RoLLO. Just as it should be. I know you can do 
it. You shall play Ophelia. 

GoLDiE. (Shocked — sits on piano bench) Oh, 
Mr. Webster, you don't really mean that? 

RoLLO. I certainly do mean it. 

GoLDiE. Oh, but that would be dreadful — why, I 
couldn't any more play Ophelia ! 

RoLLO. Why not? 

GoLDiE. Because it's a great part and some one 
great should play it. 

RoLLO. Not at all. Ophelia wasn't a great trage- 
dienne forty-five years old. She was just a simple 
little girl like you — she fell in love with me. That's 
all you've got to do. I mean, you can play Ophelia 
because you're young and pretty. Is your hair 
long? 

GoLDiE. (Rising) Oh, no, I couldn't, Mr. Web- 
ster. Yes, it is long. 

RoLLO. (Turning to SteinJ Well, Mr. Stein, 
Miss MacDuff is just what I want. 

Stein. (Who has been enjoying the Scotch and 
Soda. Rising) What? 

RoLLO. For Ophelia. Now about the rest of the 
cast, if you want to go on with it — — 



20 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Stein. Well, I'm getting quite interested in your 
project, Mr. Webster. 

RoLLO. Good ! Then why not go ahead until 
something stops us? I don't care who you engage 
for the rest of the cast as long as they're regular 
Shakespearean actors — but they must have had ex- 
perience. 

Stein. Well, if Shakespearean actors don't have 
experiences I don't know who does. 

RoLLO. Suppose you bring an assortment round 
here to-morrow night — it might be as well for me 
to look at them before you engage them. 

Stein. Well, that couldn't do any harm. I'll 
think it over a little, Mr. W^ebster — and let you know. 

RoLLO. All right. There's no risk in it for you. 
you know. 

(Hewston comes from kitchenette and hovers over 
tray and bottles.) 

Stein. That's all right, but I don't want to see 
you lose anything, either. 

RoLLO. Don't worry about me. 

Stein. Well, I think we may as well be going 
along. We had a very pleasant call, anyway, Mr. 
Webster. 

(Hewston helps Stein on with his coat. Goldie 
crosses r.) 

RoLLO. Won't you have something? (To Gol- 
die, who casts a frightened look at the tray.) 

Goldie. Oh, no, nothing — I never do. 

RoLLO. Just plain soda, I meant. 

Goldie. No, thank you. 

Stein. You will hear from me. Coming, Gol- 
die? (Goldie crosses r.) 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 21 

RoLLO. (To GoLDiEJ Must you go? Won't you 
let Hewston make you a cup of tea? 

GoLDiE. (Crossing two steps) No, thank you, 
Mr. Webster. 

RoLLO. Well, you'll come to-morrow night, won't 
you? 

GoLDiE. I will if— I'll try to, Mr. Webster. 
(Crosses two steps more.) 

RoLLO. Can't I call for you? 

GoLDiE. No. Oh, no. Good-bye. 

(Stein and Goldie exit, the door being held open 
for them patiently by Hewston. Rollo goes 
to piano and tries to play Goldie's song.) 

Rollo. (Singing) 
"Blushing June roses to you I've given- 



( READY studio bell) 

Hewston. (Coming L.c.j Pardon me, sir, but 
would it be convenient for you for me to go for a 
walk in the park? 

Rollo. Certainly. (Playing, sings again) "La ta 
ta, ta ta ta, tears — ere I go " 

Hewston. I think it would rest me to spend an 
hour in the Zoo. 

Rollo. All right, Hewston. If you can rest in 
the Zoo, you must need it. What's the trouble ? Do 
you have to work too hard ? 

Hewston. I'm not complaining about the work, 
sir. It's the kitchenette. A man can't be shut up in 
that place and keep his self-respect. 

Rollo. Can't you sit up in my bedroom? 

Hewston. No, sir. I can't be running up and 
down the stairs every time you call me. 

Rollo. Well, the only other place I can suggest 
is under the piano. (Continues song) 
"Blushing June roses " 



22 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

(A hurried ring at door, Hewston goes, opens it 
and admits Goldie. Hewston returns to 
kitchenette.) 

Goldie. (Agitated) Oh, Mr. Webster, do please 
forgive me for coming back. 

RoLLo. (Rising) Forgive you? Why, I'm per- 
fectly delighted to see you. I've missed you ter- 
ribly. I was just playing the music for your en- 
trance when you came in — did you hear me? 

Goldie. ^r. of table) It's very hard for me to 
tell you why I came back, Mr. Webster. 

RoLLO. (l. of table) Then why do it? Suppose 
we say you came back — because I was wishing that 
you would — and wishing that I had asked for your 
telephone number. Have you got one? 

Goldie. No, Mr. Webster — the man in the drug 
store gives me messages if they are important. 

RoLLO. The man in the drug store ? Well — does 
he decide whether they're important or not? 

Goldie. Yes. 

RoLLO. And what is the name of the drug store? 

Goldie. It's Riddle's drug store — Chelsea 4321. 
But don't let's speak of such things at a time like 
this, Mr. Webster. 

RoLLO. A time like this? Is this some sort of a 
time? 

Goldie. Oh, indeed — indeed it is! 

(Enter Hewston zvith hat. Starts for door r.) 

RoLLO. Good Heavens — then we'd better fortify 
ourselves for it. Hewston, some tea. 

(Hewston goes into kitchenette very dejectedly.) 

Goldie. (Sits r. of table) Oh, I had to come to 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 23 

tell 3'OU — to beg you — please, Mr. Webster, don't 
go on with it. 

RoLLO. Don't go on with it? 

GoLDiE. He's going to do it — he said so, on the 
way down in the elevator. 

RoLLO. But I'm glad he is — I expected him to. 

GoLDiE. But you don't know him as I do — it 
isn't because he thinks it will be good. 

RoLLO. Of course not. 

GoLDiE. It is just — just to get your money. He 
thinks, if it does succeed, it will be because it is so 
bad. 

RoLLO. Never mind what he thinks — I wouldn't 
even accuse him of such a thing. 

GoLDiE. But do you realize what he is? He's 
not a good manager at all, Mr. Webster. 

RoLLO. Of course not. No good manager would 
have anything to do with me. 

GoLDiE. And I am nothing at all, Mr. Webster. 
I don't suppose there is a worse actress in the world. 
(Enter Hewston zvifh tea tray and service.) I'm 
terribly afraid, in the first place — my mouth dries 
up and I want to run right off the stage. (Hews- 
ton serves tea.) 

RoLLO. Will you have lemon or cream — cream, I 
think, is better for you — it's more soothing. (Nods 
to Hewston. Hewston exits for cream.) 

GoLDiE. I do wish you would save yourself from 
us, Mr. Webster, before it is too late. 

RoLLO. (Getting book of ''Hamlet" from piano) 
I'm going to lend this to you — so you can read over 
the part of Ophelia. 

GoLDiE. Please don't 

RoLLO. You won't mind when you see how much 
Ophelia is like you. She's afraid and everything. 

GoLDiE. I know — I know what you mean. Don't 
make me, please, I know the part perfectly well. 



24 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

(Enter Hewston — pours cream in tea.) 

RoLLO. (Sits L. of table, surprised) You know 
it? 

GoLDiE. Oh, yes. My grandmother made me 
learn all those parts — Juliet and Desdemona and 
Rosalind and Ophelia 

RoLLO. She did? What a wonderful grand- 
mother. 

GoLDiE. Yes, she was wonderful, Mr. Webster. 
Perhaps you've heard of her. They called her the 
''Beautiful Mary Mowe." 

(Hewston drops pitcher on tray.) 

RoLLO. I never did. My fault, I'm sure. 

(Hewston shows surprise and interest. He sets 
pitcher on tray, making a little clatter.) 

GoLDiE. She was a great actress. My mother 
went on the stage, too, in England. She wasn't suc- 
cessful at all, and I am even worse. Poor grand- 
mother — it ruined her life to think we didn't inherit 
it, you know. 

(Hewston exits into kitchenette.) 

RoLLO. But how do you know you didn't ? 

GoLDiE. Oh, Mr. Webster — how do we know 
anything? I'm simply awful on the stage. I'm not 
so bad off — you see I'm not. (Takiytg the teacup.) 
I can lift up a cup and everything — but on the stage 
my hands take the strangest shapes — my feet don't 
look the same. Don't let me do it. 

RoLLO. (Greatly interested) My dear child, I 
don't care what you may or may not have been. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 25 

You will find that playing Ophelia with me is quite 
different from anything you have ever imagined. 
(Enter Hewston again zvifh hat. Crosses to door 
R.) You're not drinking your tea. Isn't it right? 

GoLDiE. (Sadly) Oh, yes. I'm sure it's de- 
licious. 

RoLLO. I know what's the matter with it — it 
needs some cookies. Hewston, order up some of 
those cookies — the nutty ones. 

Hewston. They never send up the nutty ones, 
sir. 

RoLLO. Get them yourself. 

(Hewston exits door R.) 

GoLDiE. I don't want them, truly. 

RoLLO. Wait till you see them. They look like 
Mount Fujiama, all exploding in beautiful almonds 
in the middle. 

(GoLDiE rises. Rollo anxiously follows suit.) 

GoLDiE. Well, that's all, Mr. Webster. I can't do 
any more than warn you. I must go. (Starts R.) 

Rollo. (Crosses to her) Let me get a cab and 
take you home. 

GoLDiE. No. no, thank you — I live way down 
town. 

Rollo. I was going way down town, anyway. 

GoLDiE. Oh, not as far as I go, Fm sure. 

Rollo. What street is it? 

GoLDiE. Eighth Street. 

Rollo. I was, though — I was going to Seventh 
Street. 

GoLDiE. Oh, Mr. Webster, what were you going 
to Seventh Street for? Why, there are only funny 
little shops there. 

Rollo. I know it. I was going to one of those 



26 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

funny little shops to buy some of that funny old 
stuff — what do you call it ? 

GoLDiE. What do you do with it? 

RoLLO. Well, you decide that after you get it. 
I was going really. I can prove it — look, here's my 
hat and stick. (Gets them from r. of staircase.) 
Please ? 

GoLDiE. No, Mr. Webster, I can't believe that 
you were going down to Seventh Street for any- 
thing. 

RoLLO. Well, could you believe I was going down 
to Forty-second Street and Broadway? 

GoLDiE. Yes. 

RoLLO. Then we'll go there. 

GoLDiE. And I can take the subway. 

RoLLO. Yes, won't that be jolly? I'll dash down 
and get a cab on the street. Takes the starter hours 
to do it. I'll be right back for you. 

(RoLLO goes out, closing door zvith a brisk slam.^ 
Lydia, upstairs, thinking they are both gone, 
sings. Goldie stands by fireplace.) 

Lydia. 

"I love to wander in the spring " 



(Enters from Rollo's bedroom upstairs and comes 
out on balcony singing. Sees Goldie.) 

Lydia. Oh ! Mercy ! (Exits hastily back into 
bedroom, closing door.) 
Goldie. Oh ! Mercy ! 

(Goldie stands dejectedly for a moment. Hewston 
enters with cookies on a plate. He offers them 
to Goldie^ who refuses them without speak- 
ing.) 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 2-7 

Hewston. They're the nutty ones, Miss. (He 
sets cookies on the table.) If you'll excuse my say- 
ing so, Miss. I heard you mention your grandmother, 
the beautiful Mary Mowe. 

GoLDiE. Yes ? 

Hewston. What would you say, Miss, if I was 
to tell you that my father acted with her? 

GoLDiE. Your father ? What was his name ? 

Hewston. Hewston, Miss, the same as mine — 
only he was Eustace and I am James. 

GoLDiE. (Surprised) Eustace Hewston — why, he 
was almost as great as Grandma. 

Hewston. Yes, Miss. That was him. And I 
was raised to follow in his footsteps. But what was 
the use? There was no call for acting in London. 
Only in the Provinces. That was the only place 
they would stand for Shakespeare. 

GoLDiE. Are you sorry, Hewston ? I mean would 
you have been happier, do you think, acting Shakes- 
peare ? 

Hewston. Who can say, Miss? I would like to 
have pla)^ed Hamlet just once. But I might not 
have been any happier if I had. There's a great 
many. Miss, that wishes to play that part. I some- 
times think Shakespeare has a great deal to answer 
for, in the general discontent among the laboring 
classes. 

(Enter Rollo.) 

RoLLO. All ready — I've got a beautiful cab all 
lined with royal purple — on to Forty-second Street! 

(Hewston exits into kitchenette.) 

GoLDiE. Mr. Webster, I've changed my mind. 



28 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

RoLLO. (Hopefully) Really? On to Eighth 
Street? 

GoLDiE. No! I don't want you to go with me 
at all. 

RoLLO. Oh — do you really mean that? 

GoLDiE. Yes, I do. Please let me go by myself. 
I'm used to it. 

RoLLO. But I'm not. I never let you go by your- 
self but once — and then I tried to stop you. What's 
the matter? How can you have taken such a dislike 
to me just since I've been downstairs? 

GoLDiE. I haven't taken a dislike to you — ^but I 
want to go by myself. 

(Enter Hewston.) 

RoLLO. (Hurt) Oh, very well, then. Will you 
at least ride in my cab? 

GoLDiE. (Crosses to r. of Rollo) I'd rather 
not. 

Rollo. Will you let Hewston put you on your 
subway ? 

GoLDiE. It's not necessary, truly. 

RoLLo. I suppose I'll never see you again. 

GoLDiE. Oh, yes, to-morrow night. If you 
really want me for the part. 

Rollo. Oh — can I really have you if I want you? 

GoLDiE. Oh, yes, I couldn't afford to refuse a 
part. But I think it's better to be quite independent 
— I mean about going home and things like that — 
don't you? 

RoLLO. I think it's awful — ^but you won't always 
feel the way you do — I'm sure you won't. Perhaps 
even by the time you get downstairs you'll feel dif- 
ferently about it. If you do, telephone up and I'll 
come right down. 

GoLDiE. Good-bye ! 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 29 

RoLLO. Good-bye. 

(Exit GOLDIE.) 

Hewston. Shall I dismiss the cab, sir? 
RoLLO. Yes, or take it to the Zoo. 
Hewston. Thank you, sir. 

(Exit Hewston door r. Enter Lydia down the 
stainvay.) 

RoLLO. (Seeing her — crosses in front of table.) 
What are you doing here ? Sneak ! 

Lydia. Vm not. Fm just a loving anxious sister. 

RoLLO. That's the same thing. You've been up 
there all the time? 

Lydia. Well — after I started being up there I 
couldn't stop. Unless I jumped out the window. 
(Coming down to R. of table.) 

RoLLO. Spying on me! 

Lydia. I wouldn't have done it, Rollo, but my 
life is so uninteresting. And I had no idea that 
anyone was coming but Mr. Stein, when I started 
sneaking. 

Rollo. Neither had I. 

Lydia. I know it, Rollo. And then she came — 
your wild oat. 

Rollo. What do you mean — my wild oat? 

Lydia. Is she pretty? 

Rollo. Yes, she is. But there's nothing wild- 
oatlike about her. She wouldn't even let me take 
her to the subway in a cab. 

Lydia. She was right, Rollo. Actresses have to 
be awfully careful of their reputations. Oh, Rollo, 
if I could only be like her. 

RoLLO. Don't be foolish. 

Lydia. But why is it foolish? Oh, Rollo, won't 



30 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

you please let me be in it? Oh. please, Rollo. I'll do 
anything for you if you will? 

Rollo. My poor child, have a cookie, your mind 
seems to be quite unhinged. 

Lydl\. I don't want it. Rollo, why can't I? I 
must have some talent, I'm your sister. 

Rollo. You know what Vm going to play, don't 
you? 

Lydia. Hamlet. 

Rollo. Yes. What would you like to be ? What 
do you think nature has fitted you for, in the 
tragedy of Hamlet? 

Lydia. I don't know. I'd be willing to be any- 
thing — just to have some fun like the rest of you. 

Rollo. Fun ! You don't suppose we're doing it 
for fun ! 

Ly^dia. Well, what are you doing it for? No 
one wants you to do it. 

Rollo, I'm doing it because it's been my life- 
long ambition. 

Lydia. (Coaxing) Isn't there just some little 
part I could play? 

Rollo. No — there aren't any little parts. 

Lydia. I know there are — there always are. 
People just come on and then you never see them 
again. I'd be willing to be one of those. Rollo, 
I'm your only little sister. Suppose anything should 
happen to me ; then you'd be sorry. 

Rollo. Yes, I would. And I can at least see 
this doesn't happen to you. 

Lydia. (Her manner changing. Sits r. of table.) 
I can't promise that I won't tell Grandfather the 
whole thing, then. If it's so — debasing, I don't 
think you ought to do it. 

Rollo. If you tell Grandfather before the open- 
ing performance I shall never speak of you as being 
my sister again. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 31 

Lydia. That won't matter. Everyone knows I 
am. 

RoLLO. (Weakening) There's only one part you 
could possibly play and you certainly wouldn't want 
to do that. 

Lydia. I'd love to — who is it? 

RoLLO. One of the players who comes to an- 
nounce the play that they play in the play. 

Lydia. Will you let me do it, Rollo? 

RoLLO. It's a part that requires wearing tights. 
(Glancing at Lydia to see the effect.) You wouldn't 
mind that, I suppose? 

Lydia. No, Rollo. Not in Shakespeare. Oh, 
my dear, darling brother! What is my name in 
the play ? 

Rollo. Your name is Prologue, and all you have 
to say is "For us and for our tragedy, here stoop- 
ing to your clemency, we beg your hearing pa- 
tiently." 

Lydia. (Rising) Oh, Rollo, you have made me 
so happy. (Embracing him.) 

Rollo. Well, it was quite unintentional, Lyd, be- 
lieve me. 

CURTAIN 



ACT I 

Scene 2: The same — at eight-thirty the following 
evening. 

On Rise: Stein, Camperdown, Mrs. 
Park-Gales, Skitterling and Hewston dis- 
covered. 

Hewston at the phone. The others waiting 
for RoLLO. 

Hewston. (Speaking into phone) Yes, sir, 
they've begun to come in. Quite a few are here, sir. 
Not Miss MacDuff — not yet, sir. (To the people 
assembled) Mr. Webster says, if you'll please make 
yourselves quite at home, he'll be here directly. 
(Goes into hall r., where he stands ready to open 
door.) 

Mrs. Park-Gales. (Seated l. of table, to Skit- 
terling, tvho is standing above table zmth Camp- 
erdown) Mr. Skitterling — who is this Rollo Web- 
ster? 

Skitterling. (Shnigs) Ask Mr. Stein. 

Camperdown. Who is Mr. Stein? 

Mrs. Park-Gales. (To Stein, who is seated in 
chair by fireplace R.) Mr. Stein — tell me about 
Rollo Webster. 

Stein. (Comes to her) Certainly, Mrs. Gales. 
What shall I tell you? 

Mrs. Park-Gales. Well — who is he? Has he 

talent? Has he 

32 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 33 

Stein. I don't know. But he has a grandfather 
— old Horatio Webster, the air-brake man. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. (Impressed) Oh, Horatio 
Webster ! He was a great first nighter. I think I've 
heard my grandmother speak of him. 

(Enter Lucas. Hewston takes his hat.) 

Lucas, Thanks. (Comes down R.c.j 

Stein. Do you know Mrs. Park-Gales, Mr. Lu- 
cas? 

Lucas. (Crosses l. to Mrs. Park-Gales. Mr. 
Stein drops down r.) Don't insult me, Mr. Stein. 
Of course I do. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. Why, George, I thought you 
were playing in Detroit, at that new theatre, the 
Art Craft. 

Lucas. No, my dear lady, I'm not. We re- 
hearsed for three weeks, but they decided to turn 
it into a picture house. A great deal of craft and 
very little art. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. How horrible. The "Mov- 
ies" 

Stein. Pictures are a great business. You take 
a picture and you got something. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. Yes, but what? 

Stein. You get all through with the actors and 
there they are playing for you every night. If they 
are sick or dead, it don't make any difference. They 
are working just the same. 

(Bell) 

Lucas. Anything to make us work for nothing! 

(Joins Camperdown and Skitterling. They cross 
to window-seat l. and sit. Studio buzzer. 
Hewston admits Goldie. Hewston takes her 



34 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

cloak and Goldie goes to chair. She has her 
little hook of ''Hamlet/') 

Stein. (Standing back of table) Hello, Goldie. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. (So>ftlv to Steinj Who is 
that? 

Stein. Miss MacDuff. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. I don't know her. W^hat is 
she going to play ? 

Stein. Well, what do you suppose? There's only 
two lady parts in the play, ain't there? My of¥ice- 
boy was reading it and that's all he could find. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. She looks very young to play 
Ophelia. 

Stein. Yes? Was Ophelia old? 

Mrs. Park-Gales. No one but an experienced 
actress should attempt it. 

Stein. W'ell. Mr. Webster is backing the show 
and he wants this lady for Ophelia. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. I see. What a pity! 

Stein. I'll introduce you. (Goes to Goldie.J 
Goldie, I want you to meet the Queen. (Introduc- 
ing.) Mrs. Park-Gales, Miss MacDuff. 

Goldie. (Crosses to r. of table) I am very glad 
to meet you. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. How do you do, my dear? 
I'm so interested to hear that you are going to play 
Ophelia. 

Goldie. (Sits) Yes? Why, Mrs. Gales? 

Mrs. Park-Gales. Because it is my favorite 
role. Was, I should say — for I've not played the 
part for some years. 

Goldie. Did you really enjoy playing it, Mrs. 
Gales ? 

Mrs. Park-Gales. Oh, yes, indeed, I did. I 
lived and breathed and was Ophelia. I used to be- 
have very strangely in my dressing-room after the 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 35 

performance. Especially if there were flowers about. 
GoLDiE. (Sympathetically) Oh, dear, I hope I 
won't 

(Enter Rollo. Hewston takes his coat and stick. 
RoLLO ivears dinner coat.) 

Rollo. Good evening, ever3^body. Sorry I'm 
late. 

(Lucas, Camperdown and Skitterling rise and 
cross to L. of c.) 

Stein. (Introducing them) Well, Mr. Webster, 
here I am with the troupe. Mr, Webster — Mr. 
Camperdown, Skitterling and Lucas — Mrs. Park- 
Gales. 

RoLLO. (Bowing to the ladies) Mrs. Gales — and 
Miss MacDuff I've met. (To GoldieJ How have 
you been? Never mind, you needn't tell me. (To 
SteinJ Camperdown for Polonius and Skitterling 
for the King? 

Stein. You guessed it, Mr. Webster — and Lucas 
is Ophelia's brother. 

RoLLO. We can't do much with just these, you 
know — ^you haven't even got a ghost. 

Stein. Don't you be worried, Mr. Webster — we 
will have a dandy ghost Monday. I can even tell 
you before the evening is over, when we will open. 

RoLLO. Well, we won't open before we're ready, 
I suppose. 

Stein. Why not? These people all know their 
parts. There's no use going over them just for their 
enjoyment. I was talking to George Lucas, and I 
could hardly stop him from reciting the whole play 
from the beginning. 

(Bell. Enter Lydia admitted hy Hewston. ) 



36 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Lydia. Rollo ! (RoLLO goes to her and leads her 
down R., so they mill not be heard. Goldie observes 
covertly and appears to be absorbed in her book.) 
Rollo, Aunt Lane is downstairs. 

Rollo. Why is she? Have you told her? 

Lydia. Yes — she says the sooner we do it the 
better, and get it over with. She'll be our friend 
against Grandfather. 

Rollo. Does she know I don't want anyone to 
know you're related to me? 

Lydia. Yes. We practiced my name in the cab — 
she wouldn't let me come without her. 

Rollo. It wasn't necessary for you to come. I 
kept trying to tell you that all through dinner. 

Lydia. (Starting to cry) I thought you did. 

RoLLO. Don't cry now and I'll introduce you to 
an actor. (To LucasJ Mr. Lucas, Miss Julie Bou- 
ton. (Lucas pleased to meet her. Takes Lydia to 
stairway. Lydia cheers up at once. Rollo speaks 
to Hewston) Hewston, ask Miss Lane to come 
up. 

Goldie. (Coming to Rollo) Mr. Webster, I 
don't really feel that I ought to go on with it. I 
think you must see how different I am from the 
rest of them — how out of place. 

Rollo. Well, so am I. 

Goldie. What a pity that Mrs. Park-Gales isn't 
young any more, so she could play ''Ophelia." 

Rollo. Yes. What a pity Methuselah died. He 
might be playing Hamlet instead of me. 

Goldie. Why not let Miss Bouton play my part ? 

Rollo. Julie? Oh, she can't play anything. She 
wanted to be in it more — well — to see what's going 
on. You see she's — well, you know — she's a sweet 
little thing — but she's really an awful nuisance. 

Goldie. Oh — I see. But I suppose she wasn't 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 37 

always a nuisance, was she? (Bell. Enter Aunt 
Lane.J 

RoLLO. Just a moment. Don't move — I'll be right 
back. (Crosses to Aunt Lane.) 

Aunt Lane. Well, Rollo, this is very nice of 
you, to let me come in upon you unexpectedly. How 
are you getting on? 

Rollo. Why, I was getting on very well. I 
don't know just what to do about introducing you 
to these people. 

Aunt Lane. (Condescendingly hut pleasantly) 
\N\iy, certainly, Rollo. I don't mind meeting them 
in the least. (Sits wing chair r. Stein goes c, 
back of group.) 

GoLDiE. (Approaching) Excuse me, Mr. Web- 
ster. But I think I'd better go, really. 

Rollo. No, I will not excuse you, Miss Mac- 
Duff — my Aunt Lane. (Going to the introducing 
heavily.) Mr. Stein, my Aunt Lane. Mrs. Park- 
Gales, Aunt Lane — don't go, please. Miss MacDuff. 
I wish to speak to you — and — Mr. Skitterling and 
Mr. Camperodwn, Aunt Lane. (Glancing anxiously 
in Goldie's direction) Mr. Lucas, Aunt Lane. 

(Skitterling, Camperdown and Lucas cross and 
hoiv c. and go up l.c. Lucas goes up to Lydia. 
Rollo goes to Goldie. Stein l. of Aunt 
Lane. J 

Aunt Lane. (To SteinJ Mr. Lucas is a very 
handsome young man. 

Stein. Yes, Lucas is all right if he had a hair- 
cut. 

Aunt Lane. Are you an actor, Mr. Stein ? 

Stein. No, I'm the manager of the troupe. 

Aunt Lane. (Confidentially) Rollo's not very 
strong, you know. I hope you won't let him play 



38 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

anything but some little part, where it won't matter 
much. He gets very nervous and then he really 
should lie down. 

Stein. Well, if he lies down in this piece, I'm 
afraid it will be noticed. 

Aunt Lane. Has the play been named yet ? 

Stein. Why, yes, it's been named a long time. 
It's Hamlet. 

Aunt Lane. (Surprised) Hamlet? Really — 
and is that Mr. Lucas going to play Hamlet? 
(Glancing at Lucas, j 

Stein. No, your nephew, Mr. Webster, is going 
to play Hamlet. 

Aunt Lane. Rollo! You're not serious, Mr. 
Stein. You certainly can't think that Rollo could 
play Hamlet? 

Stein. (Gallantly) Why shouldn't he, with such 
a handsome aunt? 

Aunt Lane. (Disturbed) Why, it's absurd. I 
must speak to him. Rollo! (Stein tip to join 
GoLDiE. Rollo to Aunt Lane) Rollo, I want to 
speak to you about this idea of yours of playing 
Hamlet — I supposed you were going to do some little 
thing that you had written yourself, like the char- 
ades you used to do with Lydia. But Hamlet ! Is 
it true, Rollo, that you think of doing such a thing? 

Rollo. Yes. Aunt Lane. It's true. W^hat about 
it? 

Aunt Lane. (Reproachfully) Rollo, when I 
think of you in your perambulator, the dearest, 
sweetest, most considerate little baby I ever saw! 

Rollo. Aunt Lane, I beg that you will forget my 
character in my perambulator. I have changed since 
then. 

Aunt Lane. (Trying to be resigned) Well, 
we'll just have to make the best of it and keep it 
from your Grandfather as long as we can. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 39 

RoLLO. I'm not going to take my own name. 
I'm using "Rollster," a combination of Rollo and 
Webster. 

Aunt Lane. (Laughing) Rollster! Oh, Rollo, 
that's too ridiculous. It sounds like some kind of 
a mattress. 

Rollo. (With dignity) I don't know why ! 

Aunt Lane. I don't either, but it does. 

Rollo. Excuse me, Aunt Lane. I have my 
business to attend to. (Turning to the others) On 
Monday we'll start rehearsals. There's just one 
thing I'd like to make sure of now — that is that the 
voices go together. 

Lydia. My voice isn't very good this evening, 
Rollo. 

Rollo. That doesn't matter — you won't need to 
use it. 

Stein. Why not have them harmonize? 

Rollo. (Stein goes l. to piano bench, sits) Sup- 
pose we try a few lines — those who are together in 
scenes. Suppose — you know the part of Laertes, Mr. 
Lucas. (Takes copy of '' Hamlet" from his pocket.) 

Lucas. Yes, Mr. Webster, certainly. (He comes 
dotvn. Lydia sits on steps.) 

Rollo. Very good. It's important that your 
voice should suit Miss MacDuff's. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. Mr. Lucas has a beautiful 
voice. 

Rollo. Yes? Miss MacDuf¥, will you come 
down? We'll start on, "My necessaries are em- 
barked—" 

(Lucas and Goldie down c. Lucas r.c. Goldie 
L.c. Rollo down r.) 

Lucas. (Picking it up) 

"My necessaries are embarked, farewell, 



40 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

And sister as the winds give benefit 
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep 
But let me hear from you." (His hand on Gol- 
die's arm.) 

RoLLO. Don't put your hand on her. 
Lucas. No, sir, certainly not. 
GoLDiE. (Casting an inquiring look at Rollo) 
Shall I? 

Rollo. Yes, go on. 

GoLDiE. Will you just say that over again? 
Rollo. Just the last line, please. 
Lucas. Just the last line. 

"But let me hear from you." 
GoLDiE. "Do you doubt that?" 
Lucas. 

"For Hamlet and the trifling of his favour 
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, 
A violet in the youth of primy nature 
Forward not permanent, sweet, not lasting. 
The perfume and suppliance of a minute no 
more." 
GoLDiE. (Softly and with raised eyebrows) 

"No more but so?" 
Lucas. 

"Think it no more for nature — " 
RoLLO. (Interrupting) Skip to — "And in the 
morn and liquid dew of youth — " 
Lucas. 

"And in the morn and liquid dew of youth — " 
(He hesitates.) 
Rollo. (Prompting him) "Contagious blast- 

ments " 

Lucas. 

"Contagious blastments — " 
(To Rollo) Thank you. 
Rollo. Not at all. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 41 

Lucas. 

"Are most imminent, 
Be wary then ; best safety lies in fear ; 
Youth to itself rebels, tho' none else near." 
Stein. (Aside) Whatever that means. (Cam- 
PERDOWN and Skitterling look at him reproach- 
fully.) 

GOLDIE. 

"I shall the eflfect of this g-ood lesson keep, 
As watchman to my heart. But good my 

brother, 
Do not as some ungracious pastors do, 
Show me the steep and thorny way to Heav- 
en " 

Oh, dear — this spoils it all. 

RoLLO. (Goes to her. Lucas drops dozvn r.) 
What's the matter? 

GoLDiE. This line — I can't. I just can't say it. 
(Showing him in the book. Camperdown and 
Skitterling come dozvn l.c.) 

RoLLO. 

"Whiles like a pufif'd and reckless libertine, 
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads." 

— You don't like to say that? 

GoLDiE. Not the "whiles like a puff'd" part. 

RoLLO. Why not? 

GoLDiE. I don't think it's nice. 

RoLLO. It's the "reckless libertine," I suppose, 
you don't like. 

GoLDiE. I couldn't say it. 

RoLLO. Come to think of it, I don't believe she 
said it. We'll cut it out. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. (Unable to restrain herself) 
Mr. Webster. 

Camperdown. (With Skitterling advance) 
But Mr. Shakespeare said it. Are you going to im- 
prove on Shakespeare, Mr. Webster? 



42 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

RoLLO. (Crosses to Camperdown) Why not? 
If Miss MacDuff had told Shakespeare that OpheHa 
wouldn't have said that, he'd have said, "Wouldn't 
she?" that's all. He'd have changed it. He was a 
nice fellow, you know, nothing God-like or disagree- 
able about him. And there's no reason why, just 
because he's dead, Ophelia should go on saying that 
line. "Pufif'd and reckless libertine" is rather dis- 
gusting. Sounds more like Polonius. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. (Rising and coming c.) Ex- 
cuse me, Mr. Webster — but it's all in the way of 
saying it — if you'll pardon a suggestion, just give 
Mr. Lucas a look, dear. (To GoldieJ When you 
say that. Let me show you. (Crosses to Lucas. 
Passes GoLDiE r. with a jaunty look at Lucas.) 
Put your arm around me, George. 

Lucas. (To RolloJ May I ? 

RoLLO. If she wants you to. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. 

"Do not as some ungracious pastors do. 
Show me the steep and thorny way to Heaven 
Whiles like a puff'd and reckless libertine " 

— A little nudge here helps it. You can do that, 
can't you? 

GoLDiE. Why, I suppose I could— — (Crosses 
hack c.) 

(Mrs. Park-Gales crosses to Rollo.) 

RoLLO. But I don't want her to do it, Mrs. Gales. 
Ophelia wouldn't have done it. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. Oh, but I've played the part 
so many times, Mr. Webster — and I always did it. 
In fact was asked to do it. It helps Mr. Lucas. 

RoLLO. I don't think Mr. Lucas needs any help. 
And what I want Miss MacDuff to do is to act like 
Ophelia. Not like an actress playing Ophelia. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 43 

Mrs. Park-Gales. Oh, well, just one thing, my 
dear. (To Goldie) Don't swallow continua% the 
way you do. I'm sure Ophelia didn't do that. 

Goldie. I know — it's dreadful! I can't help it! 
It's because I'm nervous. 

RoLLO. (To Goldie) Do it. Of course Ophelia 
did it. Wasn't she nervous? Swallow and skip to 
''Whilst himself the primrose path of dalliance 
treads." 

(Mrs. Park-Gales sifs r. of table.) 

Goldie. 

"Whilst himself the primrose path of dalliance 

treads 
And recks not his own rede." 
Lucas. 

"Oh fear me not, I stay too long 

But here my father comes " 

Camperdown. Shall I come in, Mr. Webster? 
RoLLO. Yes, for a minute. 
Camperdown. (Strides to Lucas) 
"Yet here, Laertes, 
Aboard, aboard for shame. 
The wind sets in the shoulder of your sail, 
And you are stayed for! 

There my blessing with you." (Laying his 
hand on the fop of Lucas' head, zvhich Lucas does 
not enjoy.) 

RoLLO. That will do. It's all right. (To GoldieJ 
I wish there was more of you. 

Camperdown. (With sarcasm) Won't you have 
time to write something in — before we open, Mr. 
Webster ? 

RoLLO. What do you mean? 
Camperdown. Well, I only thought 



44 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Stein. Mr. Camperdown, an actor should never 
think at rehearsals. 

Camperdown. Some people can't help thinking, 
Mr. Stein. (Displeased, crosses to Skitterling.) 

Lucas. (To Goldie) As soon as we get easy, 
I think you will be happy in the scenes we have to- 
gether. 

Goldie. Do you? (They start up c. together. 
RoLLO follows, taking Goldie hack.) 

(Lucas sits on steps zvith LydiaJ 

RoLLO. You'd better sit here by Aunt Lane. 

Aunt Lane. (To Goldie) My dear, you'll 
make a lovely Ophelia. 

Goldie. Oh, Miss Lane, do you think so ? I feel 
that Shakespeare hates me so already, I can hardly 
stand it. 

Aunt Lane. Oh, but you mustn't feel that way 
— must she, Rollo? 

RoLLO. That Shakespeare hates her? Why, he's 
just standing around somewhere hoping she won't 
hate him. 

Aunt Lane. Try the soliloquy, Rollo — go on — 
try it. 

RoLLO. I'd rather not if you don't mind. 

Aunt Lane. I wouldn't make any changes, 
Rollo. Didn't somebody say we should neither add 
to nor take away from it? 

RoLLO. That was the Bible, dear. 

Aunt Lane. Oh, so it was. 

RoLLO. I think we'll wait until the cast is com- 
plete before we rehearse any more — I'm having a 
little supper served in the grill. Won't you all go 
down, please? Aunt Lane, let Mr. Stein take you 
down. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 45 

Aunt Lane. I don't think I will, Rollo. 

RoLLO. Of course you will. It's jolly down there. 
I've ordered crab meat especially for you. 

Aunt Lane. Why, how could you when yoM 
didn't know I was coming-? 

Rollo. Well, I was afraid you would — go along 
— there's a dear. Mr. Stein, will you take down 
Aunt Lane? 

Aunt Lane. (Glancing at Lydiaj Oh, Rollo! 
How about Miss Bouton ? 

Rollo. Miss Bouton! 

Lydia. (Who has become absorbed with Lucas) 
What's the matter? 

Rollo. Supper in the grill. Mr. Lucas, will you 
take Miss Bouton? 

Lucas. With pleasure. 

(Exit Aunt Lane, Stein, Lucas and Lydia.J 

Rollo. Wont you gentlemen take down Mrs. 
Park-Gales? (To Camperdown and Skitterling 
as they start for the door.) 

Skitterling. (Returning to Miss Park-Gales^ 
I beg your pardon, Mrs. Gales. 

Camperdown. So do I, I'm sure. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. Pray don't. I never blame 
people for hurrying to eat when they're hungry. As 
for me, I had a hearty dinner not so long ago. 
(Spoken as they move arm in arm to d.r. and exit,) 

Rollo. (To Goldie, who starts toward the door) 
Are you hungry? 

GoLDiE. No, Mr. Webster. 

Rollo. Then wait a minute. I have something I 
want to say to you. 

GoLDiE. What is it, Mr. Webster? 

Rollo. I've forgotten, but haven't you something 
you want to say to me? 

GoLDiE. Yes, Mr. Webster, you shouldn't have 



46 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

sent me the roses. (Goldie crosses l.c. Rollo 
R.cJ 

Rollo. I should. But I do wish you'd tell me 
where you live. I'd like to be able to address my 
own roses instead of sending them to a drug store. 

Goldie. I wouldn't mind telling you — but I'm so 
afraid you might come to see me. 

Rollo. Oh, you wouldn't want me to do that? 

Goldie. No. There really isn't room. 

RoLLO. Isn't room Well, there's a hall out- 
side, isn't there? 

Goldie. Yes. But I wouldn't like to have you 
standing in the hall. 

Rollo. I could bring a chair with me. I've 
never had such a curiosity to see an apartment. You 
really must let me come, and just look at it through 
the keyhole. 

Goldie. It really isn't an apartment, you see — 
it's just a room and bath and kitchenette. To tell 
the truth 

RoLLO. If you're going to tell the truth, perhaps 
you'd better sit down. 

Goldie. (Sitting as he suggests at l. of table) 
There really isn't any kitchenette — I mean the bath 
and kitchenette are the same. 

Rollo. (Sitting at r. of table) Oh, they are? 

Goldie. I have a little alcohol lamp and I make 
cofifee, in the bathtub. Then, when the lamp ex- 
plodes, it doesn't set fire to anything. 

Rollo. You must give me your word of honor 
never to do such a thing again. 

Goldie. Why, there isn't the slightest danger. I 
make coflfee and boil eggs and make toast every 
morning. Because we don't like to go out for break- 
fast. Besides, there's the baby. 

Rollo. (Coldly) Oh! Your baby? 

Goldie. Oh, no. I wish it was. My sister's 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 47 

baby. Such a darling. She's been staying with me. 
But she went out West yesterday and took the baby 
with her. That's why I'd been crying. 

RoLLO. Oh. I see. 

GoLDiE. She quarreled with her husband be- 
cause be gave up an awfully good position in 
an automobile factory to go into the movies. He's 
very good looking. So Tilda left him and came 
East. But now he's gone back to the factory and 
had quite a raise in salary — so she's gone back to 
him. 

Roi.LO. And taken the baby. 

GoLDiE. (Sadly) Yes. 

RoLLO. Oh, well, maybe she'll send it on occa- 
sionally. I should think it would have been pretty 
crowded — you and Tilda and the baby all in one 
bath-tub — room, I mean. 

GoLDiE. It didn't seem so. The baby was a tiny 
little thing. It had great big blue eyes and curls 
all over its head. 

RoLLO. I know. They often do. 

GoLDiE. The dearest thing was the way it would 
go to sleep in my arms. It really — well, it seems 
ridiculous to say it — but it seemed to go to sleep 
better for me than for Tilda. 

RoLLO. I don't think that is surprising at all. 

GoLDiE. It was so wonderful to sit and watch it. 
It looked just like an angel. And it gave you the 
most beautiful feeling, that you weren't doing any- 
thing at all, and yet were doing the most important 
thing in the world — putting a baby to sleep. 

RoLLO. Yes. It is important. For if they didn't 
go to sleep it would drive all the rest of us crazy. 
We had a gardener once whose baby never went to 
sleep. It cried all night and we had to discharge 
him. 



48 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

GoLDiE. Why, the poor little thing! What do 
you suppose was the matter with it ? 

RoLLO. Oh, I don't know. Babies are like human 
beings. I think. Some of them just downright dis- 
agreeable and dissatisfied with everything. This 
baby's mother made splendid bread, too. I used to 
sneak down to the cottage often for bread and 
sugar 

GoLDiE. Maybe the baby wasn't old enough to 
appreciate bread and sugar. 

RoLLO. I know, but why not look ahead a little, 
even if you are a baby? 

GoLDiE. Why not look ahead a little, even if 
you're not? 

RoLLO. Do you mean anything by that? 

GoLDiE. Yes — of course, I've no right to say it, 
so I won't. Tell me about yourself when you're 
at home. I suppose you have a home? 

RoLLO. Good Heavens, I should say I had! I 

don't like to think of it However, what sort 

of thing would you like me to tell you? 

GoLDiE. Oh, about the house, and where it is, and 
what you do. 

RoLLO. W^ell, let's see. It's a large, rambling old 
house in the country. The only trouble is, it never 
rambles — it stays right there. 

GoLDiE. And is there a garden? And has it 
roses in it? 

RoLLO. I should say so. Old-fashioned roses 
about as big as a quarter with hundreds of leaves — 
and thousands of rose-bugs. 

GoLDiE. Oh, how lovely. And has it got mignon- 
ette in it, too? 

RoLLO. Oh, Lord, yes. Awfully big, fat mignon- 
ette, and bluebells and campanulas, and laburnam 
and dulcinneam, and corryopsis and cockalorums, 
and all those things. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 49 

GoLDiE. Oh, it must be lovely ! 

RoLLO. Now what shall I tell you ? 

GoLDiE. What do you do? 

RoLLO. Nothing much. I ride some- 



GoLDiE. Oh. I've always wanted to do that. On 
horseback, you mean? 

RoLLO. Yes, on and off. I started when I was 
only five and I got thrown and broke my shoulder 
and my collar-bone and my nose all the first year. 
It isn't quite right yet. (Feeling nose.) Maybe 
you've noticed it? 

GoLDiE. No, I just thought it was sort of Ro- 
man. 

RoLLO. No, it's sort of Shetland. 

GoLDiE. Tell me about the family. 

RoLLO. Oh, it's just Grandfather and Lydia and 
Aunt Lane. 

GoLDiE. What an odd name! 

RoLLO. Yes, I had two Aunt Annas, so Grand- 
father decided to call one by her last name. That 
was Aunt Lane. She was very angry, and she came 
to see Grandfather about it, and she's lived with us 
ever since. 

GoLDiE. And what is your Grandfather like? 

RoLLO. (Frowning) Oh, he's a terror. Wants 
everybody to do what he wants. 

GoLDiE. What does he want you to do ? 

RoLLO. He'd like to have me interested in air- 
brakes. 

GoLDiE. x\ir-brakes? Tell me about them? 

RoLLO. Well, when you're on a train and it gives 
a lurch, and all the people sitting down are thrown 
on the floor, and all the people standing up are 
thrown on top of them, that's the air-break working. 

GoLDiE. I've always wondered what that was. I 
should think you'd want to do something about it. 

RoLLO. I don't — the only thing I want to do is 



50 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

to have you tell me — if everything should come out 

all right — to have you tell me (Enter Hews- 

TON. Coughs discreetly.) — something more about 
your Grandmother. 

Hevvston. Tm afraid they can't hold the table 
much longer, sir. 

RoLLO. Well, why don't you g^t a quiet table 
they can hold. 

GoLDiE. I think we had better go. Mr. W^ebster. 
(She starts off.) 

RoLLO. Oh, dear. I don't like the idea of that 
restive table. Hewston, can't you make us an 
omelette or something? I suppose not. (Follows 
GOLDIE off.) 

(Hewston stalks across the stage in Shakespearean 
style.) 

Hewston. Ah, yes, yes, indeed — those were the 
days — 

" 'Tis not alone me inky cloak, good mother." 
(Continues speech to "Shapes of grief. These do 
but seem — " ) 

(Bell. Startled hack to the reality of his position, 
he goes to door. Admits Lydia and Lucas.) 

Lydia. (Sitting on arm of chair R.) I want my 
cape, Hewston. 

Lucas. My hat, please. (To Lydia) Why can't 
I take you home? 

Lydia. Oh, you're awfully kind, but I'm going 
with Miss Lane. You see, we're stopping at the 
same hotel. 

Lucas. Well, can't I take you both? What hotel 
is it? 

Lydia. Well, it isn't really a hotel — it's the Col- 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 51 

ony Club. Aunt Lane likes it. She always stops 
there. 

Lucas. Aunt Lane? Is she your aunt? 

Lydia. (Crosses to c, followed by Lucas) Oh, 
dear — you won't tell, will you ? 

Lucas. Of course not — if you don't want me to. 

Lydia. Rollo doesn't want anyone to know. Be- 
cause people might think he let me be in the play 
just because I'm his sister. 

Lucas. I see. You haven't told me yet what 
part you're playing. 

Lydia. I didn't like to — it's so small. It's Pro- 
logue. 

Lucas. Oh, Prologue! "For us and for our 
tragedy" ? 

Lydia. Yes. You see, I've never played a part 
before. 

Lucas. I see. I wish we had some scenes to- 
gether. 

Lydia. Oh, it's awfully kind of you to say so. 

(Hewston brings cape to place on Lydia's shoul- 
ders. Lucas takes it from him and performs 
the service,) 

Lucas. And if I can be of any help to you, you 
mustn't hesitate to call upon me. 

Lydia. Oh, thank you. I'm sure you can. You 
speak so beautifully. 

Lucas. Do you think so, really? 

Lydia. Oh, yes. Why, everything 3^ou say sounds 
just like Shakespeare. I mean — I mean — I can't 
imagine you saying anything just ordinary, like 
''What time does the train go?" or anything like 
that. I suppose you do, though, sometimes. 

Lucas. You're awfully amusing. 

Lydia. Am I? I wish I were. I live such a 



52 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

secluded life that I don't know whether I am or not. 
(Hewston approaches with a hat.) 

Hewston. Is this your hat, sir? 

Lucas. (Barely glancing at it) No. You live 
in the country, don't you? 

Lydia. Yes. With my Grandfather at Shel- 
brooke. He has a very large place and he's awfully 
lonely, so we have to live with him. 

Lucas. I see. But don't you like the country? 
I long so for the birds and flowers at this season 
of the year — long for my own country place in the 
hills of Surrey. 

Lydia. Yes, at this season of the year it's begin- 
ning to be nice. But in winter it's so terribly cold. 

Lucas. (Curious about the house) But you have 
steam heat, don't you? 

Lydia. Not outdoors. And oh. it's not life, in 
the country, is it? 

Lucas. Neither is this. I don't know where we 
can find life — real life. 

Hewston. (With another hat) Is this your hat, 
sir? 

Lucas, No! (To Lydia j I sometimes find it 
in a book, sometimes on my horse galloping in tha 
teeth of the wind. Sometimes in a pair of friendly 
eyes. 

Lydia. I know exactly what you mean. 

(Phone rings. Lydia crosses to mirror on wall l.) 

Hewston. (Answering phone) Yes, sir — very 
well, sir. (To Lydiaj I'm to take down all the 
wraps and your Aunt Lane's cab is here, Miss. 

Lucas. My hat, please? 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 53 

(Hewston brings the wraps and all three hats, 
which he extends. Lucas takes one.) 

Hewston. I offered you that one, sir. 

Lucas. Thanks very much. Aren't you forget- 
ting this? (Picking up Goldie''s zvrap.) 

Hewston. I was told to forget it, sir. 

RoLLO. (Entering) Hurry along, Hewston. 
(To LydiaJ Miss Bouton, are you going? 

(Exit Hewston.) 

Lydia. (Crossing briskly r.) Yes, Mr. Webster. 

RoLLO. Miss Lane is waiting. 

Lydia. I know it. I hope your play will be a 
great success. (Seeing Goldie's wrap) There's 
some one's wrap. Hewston's a stupid idiot, isn't he? 

RoLLO. Isn^t he? But then, so is almost every- 
body. (With a meaning look.) 

Lydia. Oh, excuse me, I didn't understand. 

RoLLO. Didn't understand what? 

Lydia. (Softly) It's your wild oat. 

Lucas. Good-night ! 

RoLLO. Good-night ! 

(Lydia and Lucas exit. Rollo lights cigarette, gets 
pilloivs from zvindow-seat and puts them in zving 
chair, humming, "Blushing June Roses.'' En- 
ter Hewston.) 

Rollo. Have they gone, Hewston? 

Hewston. Why, some of them have and some 
of them haven't, sir. There was a taxi and quite an 
argument about how many could get into it. 

Rollo. I see. 

Hewston. Shall I close up, sir? 

Rollo. Why should you? It begins to dawn 



54 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

upon me that you don't know very much, Hewston. 

Hewston. Perhaps not, sir. 

RoLLO. A man in the city is quite different from 
a man in the country, Hewston. 

Hewston. Yes, sir. 

RoLLO. And the service he requires is different. 
A little intelligence in the city is quite desirable 
sometimes. I don't know if I make myself clear. 

Hewston. Well, I'm sure I don't if you don't, 
sir. 

RoLLO. I told you to keep Miss Goldie's cloak 
here. And you did it. 

Hewston. And shouldn't I have done it, sir? 

RoLLO. You should. But you don't suppose it's 
going to end there, do you? 

Hewston. What, sir? 

RoLLO. (With a gesture of impatience) You 
win, Hewston — listen, will you? When Miss Mac- 
Duff comes for her cloak, when she enters the door 
— which I will open — I want you to come from that 
point. 

Hewston. What point, sir? 

RoLLO. That chair. 

Hewston. Which chair, sir? 

RoLLO. The second chair, where you will be 
standing, with the cloak and be saying. "Look, sir. 
Miss Goldie's cloak has been forgotten." 

Hewston. Yes, sir. 

RoLLO. It isn't possible that you understand me? 

Hewston. Yes, sir, I do. 

RoLLO. Let's see you do it, then. (Rollo gives 
him the wrap, goes to door, admitting imaginary 
person.) 

Hewston. (Carefully taking position. Tragi- 
cally) Look, sir! Miss Goldie's cloak has been 
forgotten ! 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 55 

RoLLO. Yes. But don't be so gloomy about it. 
After all, it doesn't amount to anything. 

Hewston. (Doubtfully) No, sir. 

RoLLO. What's the matter? 

Hewston. Well, sir — if I might suggest some- 
thing. 

RoLLO. Certainly — go ahead. 

Hewston. I wouldn't say "Miss Goldie," sir. 

RoLLO. Oh !— 

Hewston. No, sir, I'd say Miss MacDufi. I 
think I could speak it much more naturally with that 
alteration. 

RoLLO. Certainly. Say what seems natural, only 
convey my meaning. 

Hewston. (Pleased) Yes, sir. 

RoLLO. She's a lovely girl, Hewston. Her only 
fault is that she doesn't think she can play Ophelia — 
but when you think of other people's faults, that 
isn't much. I have the greatest admiration and 
respect for her. And if anyone were to say any- 
thing against her in my presence, their life wouldn't 
be worth a straw. (Looks a little fiercely at Hew- 
ston.) 

Hewston. I understand, sir. 

(Bell. RoLLO motions Hewston back in position. 
Goes to the door and opens it, admiting Mr. 
Stein.) 

Hewston. (Not seeing him, fatuously) Oh, look 
sir, Miss MacDuft's cloak has been mislaid — left 
here quite unbeknownst, I should say. 

Stein. (Taking cloak) Just what I came for, 
thank you. Good-night, Mr. Webster. (Exits.) 

(RoLLO looks at Hewston with disgust.) 

CURTAIN 



ACT II 

Scene: Rollo's dressing-room in the Oddity Thea- 
tre. A dressing-table R. A chair in front of it. 
A poster of ''The Rollstcr Producing Company'' 
on wall R.u.E. A sheet for covering costumes 
on wall L.u.E. A door upstage c. A wardrobe 
chest down L.c. A chair up r. 

At Rise: Hewston enters the room, followed by 
Lydia in Prologue costume. 

Lydia. Where have you looked for him, Hew- 
ston? 

Hewston. Well, Miss, there's not much place 
to look, only behind the curtains, and I've shaken 
them thoroughly. 

Lydia. But you don't really think he's running 
away, Hewston ? Why, what can he be thinking of ? 

Hewston. Very likely he's not thinking at all. 
Miss — just stepping out. 

Lydia. Hewston, shouldn't you notify Mr. Stein? 

Hewston. Well, that's it. Miss. It's very early. 
Of course, Mr. Rollo has plenty of time to get 
back. 

Lydia. Yes, if we only knew which direction he's 
going in. Hewston, I think we should ask some one's 
advice. 

Hewston. Yes, Miss — whose? 

Lydia. Well, I think Mr. Lucas is the most sen- 
sible one in the company, don't you? 

S6 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 57 

Hewston. (Gloomily) He might be, at that. 

Lydia. Yes, ask Mr. Lucas to come here. 

Hewston. If I'll just raise my voice, he'll hear 
me. (Speaking up) Mr. Lucas, would you kindly 
step into Mr. Webster's dressing-room for a mo- 
ment? 

Lucas. (Very audibly frojpi the next room) Why. 
certainly. Is there any hurry? 

Lydia. (Speaking up) Yes, there is. (To Hew- 
ston) Why, isn't that wonderful? You can hear 
perfectly. 

Hewston. Very wonderful — sometimes. Miss. 

(Enter Lucas in costiivie of Laertes.) 

Lydia. (Looking at him admiringly) Mercy ! 

Lucas. Is anything the matter? 

Lydia. Nothing. Only you look so terribly 
handsome. (Her manner changing) Yes, yes, there 
is something the matter. Rollo has disappeared. 

Lucas. Disappeared? Why, that's impossible! 
(Glancing at Hewston.) 

Hewston. Yes, sir, it's true! 

Lydia. Do you think we ought to send Hewston 
to tell Mr. Stein ? 

Lucas. Decidedly ! 

Lydia. Don't bring him back with you, Hewston, 
if you can help it. Just say that Mr. Rollo has gone 
— and — er (Looking inquiringly at Luc as. J 

Lucas. And hasn't come back. 

Lydia. Yes — tell him that, Hewston. 

Hewston. Yes, Miss. (Exits.) 

Lydia. What do you suppose we'll do — if he 
doesn't come back at all? (Lydia dozvn R.j 

Lucas. It's odd, really. Everything I have any- 
thing to do with, closes just before it opens. 



58 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Lydia. Does it? Of course, I can't be very sorry 
because I'm so frightened. 

Lucas. Are you? (Lucas comes down l. of 
Lydia.J 

Lydia. Yes. Mr. Lucas, you've been so kind to 
me, helping me about my part, and everything. But 
I don't think I'll ever be really great. Do you? 

Lucas. Who can tell? 

Lydia. Why, I think almost anyone can. I'm 
not strange enough. Now, you — anyone can see 
that you are a great actor. 

Lucas. Do you think so? 

Lydia. Oh, yes, you are quite different from any- 
one I've ever met. You seem to be acting all the 
time. I suppose you do it even when you are alone. 

Lucas. I'm not acting when I'm with you, Lydia. 

Lydia. Oh, aren't you ? You seem to be. I like 
it. Only it does make you seem very far away. 

Lucas. I don't want to seem far away — and T 
don't want to be far away. And I shall regret it 
most bitterly if you give up the stage, for then I 
shall lose you out of my life. 

Lydia. Why, Mr. Lucas ! (Looking up at him.) 

Lucas. Call me George. 

Lydia. Oh, I couldn't! (Takes a side step 
nearer Lucas, j 

Lucas. Why, of course you could. Call me 
George. (About to put his arm around her.) 

(Enter Rollo. His overcoat is on over his Hamlet 
costume.) 

Rollo. What's the idea? 

Lydia. (Springing azvay from Lucas. Lucas 

goes L.) That's just what we were asking. 

Rollo. Oh, really ? It didn't sound like that. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 59 

Lydia. (Sitting on chair) Where have you 
been? 

RoLLO. I've been out looking at the moon. 

Lydia. Looking at the moon — where? 

RoLLO. In it's usual place. 

Lydia. But where were you, Rollo ? 

RoLLO. I was just across the street in a doorway 
I found over there. 

Lydia. On the night you're going to play Ham- 
let! 

Rollo. Yes — the moon is shining just the same. 
Did you notice it, Lucas? 

Lucas. I can't say I did. I came down in the 
subway. 

Rollo. You ought to go out and have a look at 
it. After all, Nature — well, she's pretty wonderful, 
I don't care what you say! (Crosses l. to Lucas.) 

Lucas. I never had any idea but that she was, 
Mr. Webster. 

Lydia. You don't seem to realize that we were 
terribly worried about you, Rollo. Hewston has 
gone to tell Mr. Stein that you've disappeared. 

Rollo. (Glancing accusingly at Lucas) Who 
told him to do that? 

Lydia. Well, you had, hadn't you? How could 
we know that you were hiding in a doorway ? 

(Enter Stein.) 

Stein. (Much excited) Well, here he is ! You 
want to turn my hair white, I suppose. You are al- 
ways making trouble, Lucas, getting up a scare. I 
heard it about you before. In every company you 
ever was you get up an excitement over nothing. 

Lucas. Don't be absurd, Mr. Stein. I had noth- 
ing to do with it. 

Stein. (To Rollo) They told me you had left 



6o ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

us flat. That's a nice thing to say to a manager, 
when he is standing in the lobby on opening night, 
trying to keep a smile on his face. Where was you, 
Rollo? 

RoLLO. I just stepped out to get a little air. Quite 
natural, I should think. 

Stein. I should think so, too. (Sits on bench.) 

Lucas. (Crossing to Lydia) If I can't be of 
any more service to you, I'll go. 

Lydia. Thank you so much for all you've done. 
I'll go, to. (FoUozvs Lucas to d. Lucas exits.) 

Rollo. Lydia, just a moment! (To her softly) 
If I ever catch you calling him George! (Exit 
Lydia haughtily.) 

Stein. Don't you feel good, Rollo? 

RoLLO. I feel all right. (Takes off overcoat and 
puts if on chair up stage. Sits in chair at dressing- 
table.) 

Stein. You know, I'm as nervous as the dickens ! 
Some fellows I know have been talking to me out 
there ; because I am producing Shakespeare they got 
a respect for me they never had before. 

Rollo. Well, that's good. Better late than 
never. 

Stein. Those fellows said they didn't think I had 
it in me. I didn't. It is you I have to thank, Rollo. 
(Crosses to Rollo.) 

RoLLO. That's all right, Stein, old man. I don't 
want you to thank me. 

Stein. Call me Abie. 

Rollo. If you don't mind, I won't just now. 
Later, perhaps — after the performance. 

Stein. Rollo, promise me you ain't going to lay 
down on me. 

RoLLO. (Rising) My God. no! 

Stein. All right — all right! Don't get excited! 
And if you do get nervous, just say to yourself. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 6i 

"Abie is counting on me." (Lights go out. Calling 
as he exits) Lights ! Lights ! 

Hewston. (Enters, lighting the candles on Rol- 
LO^s dressing-table) I thought this would happen, 
sir, when I saw the electrician, so I prepared for it. 

(A knock on the door. Rollo opens door. Goldie 
stands in the doorway. She wears a kimona, 
hut her hair is still coiled round her head.) 

Goldie. Mr, Webster, the lights have gone out 
in my dressing-room. 

Rollo. Mine are out, too. Come in and wait. 
Hewston, find the electrician. 

(Exit Hewston.) 

Goldie. (Coming in) It's terribly early. (Goes 
L. Sits on bench.) 

Rollo. Yes — it will be forever until the curtain 
goes up. But it will go up. (Sits on bench l. of 

GOLDIE.j 

Goldie. Oh, yes, it will go up. And then, no 
matter what happens, it will come down. 

Rollo. Something quite outside myself seems 
telling me that it's a tremendous moment. A mo- 
ment so many must have gone through. I suppose 
because a tremendous man provided it for us. When 
I read his lines, I find I am singing them. 

Goldie. That's because he meant you to. 

Rollo. He grips you, Goldie. You can't get away 
from him. 

Goldie. You could have — but it's too late now. 

Rollo. Goldie, we are like two children waiting 
to be born into a wonderful world. The world 
Shakespeare made. 



y 



62 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

GoLDiE. Yes. I don't feel as though I shall live 
very long. 

RoLLO. Of course you will. It's natural that the 
greatness of what we are about to do should be a 
little overpowering. 

GoLDiE. Oh, I'm glad to hear you speak that 
way. It is great — much too great for us — I mean 
for me. And I can't help feeling that Mrs. Park- 
Gales ought to be doing it. She wouldn't have 
wanted anything changed or left out — she wouldn't 
mind '*a puff'd and reckless libertine" at all She 
said so. 

RoLLO. Goldie, don't talk like that. 

GoLDiE. They read the lines the way he meant 
them to — I'm sure he never would have wanted me. 

(WARNING— Lights) 

RoLLO. He was a man, Goldie. Of course he 
would have wanted you — and hated Mrs. Park- 
Gales. 

Goldie. Do you think so? 

RoLLO. I know it. I wish I could say something 
to comfort you, Goldie. But I can't seem to help 
thinking of myself — this feeling of — of awe that I 
have is almost physical. 

Goldie. I know. Take long breaths, and if 
you can keep your knees stiff, you will be all right. 
Some one who knew all about it told me that. 

RoLLO. Who knew all about what? 

Goldie. Why, stage-fright. That's what we 
have. I always have it. 

RoLLO. It's Shakespeare, Goldie. 

Goldie. I felt just the same way when I played 
in "Sinbad the Sailor." Oh, if we only weren't go- 
ing to do it. (Rises to c.) 

RoLLO. (Going close to her) Don't feel so badly 
about it. Just keep saying over and over to your- 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 63 

self "He does want me — he does — I know he 

wants me." 

GoLDiE. Who, Rollo? (Lights go on.) 

RoLLO. Why, Shakespeare 

GoLDiE. There they are ! I must go. Good-bye. 
good luck, Rollo! (Exits.) 

(Enter Hewston ztnth long box, stems protruding 
from the end. Rollo goes to dressing-table.) 

Hewston. Some flowers for you, sir. 

Rollo. Take them out. Don't bring anything 
in here until I get out. 

Hewston. Very good, sir. Would you care to 
know who they're from? 

Rollo. No. 

Hewston. I'll just set them outside. (Puts box 
outside, entering) I haven't come across your wig, 
sir. 

Rollo. I've got it on. 

Hewston. You're not going to wear your own 
hair, sir 

Rollo. Why not? Hamlet wore his own hair, 
didn't he? 

Hewston. But he was always referred to as the 
Melancholy Dane, sir. 

Rollo. Well, can't you be melancholy with light 
hair? 

Hewston. I had hoped you were going to take 
off your mustache, sir. 

Rollo. What for? 

Hewston. I'm sure Hamlet didn't wear a mus- 
tache. 

Rollo. I'm sure he did, and that it was exactly 
like mine. 

(Camperdown knocks. Hewston opens door.) 



64 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Camperdown. (Made up as Polonius, with an 
insinuating look at Rollo) Well, how are we feel- 
ing this evening? 

Rollo. I'm feeling all right — how are you feel- 
ing, Hewston? 

Hewston. I'm feeling very well, sir. 

Camperdown. (To Rollo) Don't be nervous — 
after all, it's no more than others have tried to do — 
and there is alwavs room in the world for one more 
Hamlet ! ' . 

Rollo. Thanks. I hope there'll be more room 
in the world than there is in this dressing-room. 

Camperdown. I remember the occasion of my 
first appearance very well. I was in the theatre by 
three o'clock in the afternoon. Some friends brought 
me food at about six — a dish of very nice grilled 

bones and an egg on the side Do you think I 

could eat? I fairly drove them from the room. 

Rollo. How did you do it? 

Camperdown. I understand, Mr. Webster. 
(Laughing indulgently.) I won't wait. Success to 
you ! (Exits.) 

Rollo. Thanks. Shut the door and lock it, will 
you, Hewston? 

Hewston. I'll shut it, sir, but I can't lock it. 

Rollo. Why not? 

Hewston. Because there is no key, sir 

Rollo. (Getting nervous. Crosses to l.) No 
key? I never heard of such a thing. How are you 
supposed to keep the door shut? 

Hewston. Lean against it, I suppose, sir. Now 
that I examine it, there's not even a keyhole. 

Rollo. Have it attended to at once. Call some- 
body 

Hewston. I doubt if there's anyone with a key- 
hole in the house, sir. (A rap at the door.) 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 65 

RoLLO. Careful, now ! (Sits chair R.) 

(Mrs! Park-Gales at the door.) 

Mrs. Park-Gales. Just a moment, please — I 
must speak to Mr. Webster. 

Hewston. Mr. Webster is dressing-. 

Mrs. Park-Gales, Well, can't I just speak to 
him through a crack in the door? Mr. Webster — 
it's most important — it's about Miss MacDuff. 

Rollo. (Anxious, going to door) What is it? 
Is anything the matter with her? 

Mrs. Park-Gales. I should think so (She 

enters, made up as Queen.) It's her hair! Mr. 
Webster, you must speak to her about it. (Mrs. 
Park-Gales carries in her hand a flaxen wig with a 
few lilies tangled in it.) 

Rollo, (Horrified at sight of it) What's that? 

Mrs. Park-Gales. This is a very beautiful wig 
that I wore for years, Mr. Webster. I have offered 
it to Miss MacDuff, but she has refused it. None 
too graciously, either. If you know anything about 
hair, you can see — — 

Rollo. I don't. Please take it away — it smells 
of moth balls ! 

Mrs. Park-Gales. Oh, that comes right out. 

Rollo. Don't let it come out here — please! 

Mrs. Park-Gales. But Miss MacDuff has no 
hair but her own to -wear, Mr, Webster. 

Rollo, Miss MacDuff is wearing the hair I want 
her to wear, Mrs. Gales. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. But she looks like a soubrette. 
Will you at least see it before you let her go on with 
it — unless you have seen her with her hair down. 
Perhaps you have. (Insinuatingly.) 

Rollo. I have not. Ask her to come in here. 



66 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Mrs. Park-Gales. I will — and I'll leave this, in 
case you change your mind. (Waving the wig.) 

RoLLO. Don't leave it in here, if you value it, 
Mrs. Gales. Hewston, see that wig out the door 

Hewston. Yes, sir. 

Mrs. Park-Gales. I'll take it. At least I've done 
my part — in memory of the Ophelias of better days. 
(Ominously) Success, Mr. VVebster! (Exits Zi'itli 
wig. RoLLO backs up to chair at dressing-table. 
Bumps into it.) 

RoLLO. Damn ! 

Hewston. I'm glad to see you get so excited, sir 
— you'll give a much better performance. 

RoLLO. I'm not excited — but I hate great hanks 
of hair from God knows whose head — smelling of 
moth balls. 

(A rap on the door. Hewston goes and admits 
GoLDiE. She wears her Ophelia costume, her 
hair in braids.) 

RoLLO. Hewston, see if you can find a keyhole. 

Hewston. Yes, sir. (Exits.) 

GoLDiE. I heard what she said, Mr. Webster, 
from my dressing-room. I can't wear my hair any 
differently, and if you want to get some one else to 
play the part, you can do so. I will gladly re- 
sign 

RoLLO. (Looking at her with unaffected admira- 
tion) Goldie! How exquisite — how heavenly you 
look! 

GoLDiE. (Surprised, but finishing what she had 
come to say) I have said I didn't want to play it, 
and I don't. 

RoLLO. (Looking at her hair) Goldie™ can it be 
possible that it is really yours- 

Goldie. Of course. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 67 

RoLLO. (Delicately pointing from tip to top of 
braids) All the way from here to here. May I take 
one in my hand? How cool and lovely they are! 
Are they braids, Goldie? 

GoLDiE. No, it's plaited. Do you really like my 
hair? 

RoLLO. Good heavens, my dear — I — I never felt 
like this about anyone's hair in all my life before. 
(Takes braid and kisses it. Then kisses her. Gol- 
die submits zvithont a struggle.) Forgive me, I 
shouldn't have done that. Will you forgive me? 

Goldie. (Crosses r.) Why, of course, RoUo — 
it's quite all right. I expected you to. 

RoLLO. (^D.R.c. j You did ? 

GoLDiE. Yes, they all have. Mr. Stein and — 
everybody. 

RoLLO. (Starting away angrily) Well, that 
doesn't make it any better. 

GoLDiE. No, not any better — only I'm used to it. 

RoLLO. Goldie ! How could you let that man 
kiss you? 

Goldie. I didn't. He just did. 

RoLLO. (Bitterly) Just the way I did, I suppose. 
What beasts we are! I hadn't any idea that I was 
going to do it or I'd have led up to it in some way. 

Goldie. Led up to it? 

RoLLO. Yes. You must have noticed, Goldie — 
you must have realized in these past three weeks — - 

Goldie. Are you leading up to It? Are you go- 
ing to do it again? 

Rollo. No, I'm not. I wouldn't make you afraid 
of me for all the world. 

Goldie. I'm not afraid of you, Rollo. 

Rollo. Aren't you ? 

Goldie. I know that it doesn't mean anything. 

I'm not the one that you It wasn't a serious 

kiss. 



68 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

RoLLO. Wasn't it? But it was! That is, it 
would have been, but you see — so much depends on 
to-night — I hardly know yet who I am. I may 
find that I'm just plain Rollo Webster, and I may 
find that I'm 

GoLDiE. Hamlet ! 

Rollo. Yes. 

(Enter Hewston. Hastily fakes Hamlet cloak from 
behind zvardrobe curtain.) 

Hewston. Better be getting- out, sir. 
Rollo. I should say so! 

(Exit Rollo and Hewston, Hewston carrying 
cloak. After Rollo's exit, Goldie goes to the 
dressing-table and looks at herself in the mir- 
ror.) 

Goldie. (To her reflection) W^hy, Goldie Mac- 
Duff, whatever are you doing in Ophelia's clothes? 
My poor child, Fm sorry for you — I'm truly sorry. 

(Enter Hewston excitedly.) 

Hewston. Don't go. Miss, just for a moment. 
Something has happened. 

Goldie. What is it, Hewston? 

Hewston. Just after Mr. Rollo went on the 
stage a message came for him. It was delivered to 
me — it's er — it's about his grandfather. 

Goldie. What's the matter? 

Hewston. W^hy, his grandfather is sick and 

Well, here's the message. 

Goldie. (Taking the message from him. Reads) 
"Come at once, if you ever wish to see your grand- 
father alive again." What are you going to do, 
Hewston ? 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 69 

Hewston. That's it, Miss. I've sent out front 
for Mr. Stein — if he wants to do anything, he can. 

(Ready to fade out lights end of scene.) 

GoLDiE. But Mr. Rollo must be told, Hewston. 
He must be told immediately. 

Hewston. I don't see that, Miss. Shakespeare 
is a solemn occasion — almost as solemn, we might 
say, as death. It deserves the same repect. I shall 
not tell him — at least while he's on the stage. 

GoLDiE. But you must, Hewston. It may be too 
late if you wait. 

Hewston. (Crossing r.) I'm sorry you feel this 
way about it. Miss. 

GoLDiE. Oh, but I do — anyone would (Stein 

enters. Goldie crosses to him c.) Mr. Stein, Mr. 
Webster's grandfather is ill and has sent for him. 
You must stop the performance at once. 

Stein. (Much excited) Goldie ! You, an actress, 
to say such a thing ! 

Goldie. His grandfather means far more to him 
than Hamlet. He would want you to tell him. 

Stein. Is the old man vei*y sick? 

Goldie. Of course he is — look ! (She shozvs him 
the message.) 

Stein. He can't prevent his grandfather dying. 
Goldie, even if we told him. 

Goldie. (With feeling) He'll never forgive 
you — he'll never forgive himself. Think what it 
will mean to him — that while he was out there play- 
ing a part, a real person, his own grandfather, was 
calling for him! Haven't you any feeling? Haven't 
you any heart? 

Stein. Sure I got a heart — but you got to con- 
trol your heart, Goldie. in this business. 

Goldie. Put yourself in his place ! 



70 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Stein. I never was a dying grandfather — but if 
I was one, I don't think I would want to break up 
a show — on opening night. 

GoLDiE. (Going c, turning to Hewston) And 
you, Hewston — after all, you're the one who ought 
to do it. You're the one who has been told to do it. 
Oh. it's wicked ! You must tell him — you must ! If 
you don't, I shall ! (Starts to exit.) 

Stein. (Blocking her way) You! Goldie — 
have you lost your senses? 

Goldie. No — I haven't. 

Stein. Don't you know they never deliver a mes- 
sage like this in a theatre? If this was a regular 
theatre we wouldn't know anything about it! 

Goldie. I'm glad it isn't, then. Let me go! 
Nothing — no one can stop me — because I know I'm 
doing right! (Exits.) 

CURTAIN 

(Lights out.) 



ACT II 

Scene 2 : Dark change from the preceding scene to 
stage of the Oddity Theatre. 

Act I, Scene 2. of Hamlet is in progress. 
The ''Room of State in the Castle'' is repre- 
sented by a gray back drop, a platform with 
two gold chairs and a fur rug. The lighting is 
odd, but rather interesting. The gold chair sec- 
tion being reddish, indicating the character of 
the King, and Queen, while a pale lemon light 
shines on the features of Hamlet. 
Discovered: At rise, King, Queen, Hamlet, 
PoLONius and Laertes. 
King. (In continued speech) 

What wouldst thou beg, Laertes, 
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? 
The head is not more native to the heart. 
The hand more instrumental to the mouth 
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
What wouldst thou have, Laertes? 
Laertes. 

Dread my Lord, 

Your leave and favor to return to France; 

From whence, tho' willingly I came to Denmark 

To show my duty in your coronation, 

Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, 

My thoughts and wishes bend again toward 

France 
And bow them to your gracious leave and 
pardon. 

71 



^2 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

King. 

Have you your father's leave. What says 
Polonius ? 

POLONIUS. 

He hath me Lord, wrung from me me slow 
leave 

By laboursome petition, and at last 

Upon his will I sealed me hard consent ; 

I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 
King. 

Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time be thine, 

And thy best graces spend it at thy will ! 

But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son — 
Hamlet. (Aside) 

A little more than kin, and less than kind. 
King. 

How is it that the clouds still hang on you? 
Hamlet. 

Not so, my Lord ; I am too much i' the sun. 
Queen. 

Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off, 

And let thine eye look like a friend on Den- 
mark. 

Do not forever with thy veiled lids 

Seek for thy noble father in the dust. 

Thou knowst 'tis common ; all that live must 
die, 

Passing thru nature to eternity. 
Hamlet. Ay, Madam, it is common. 
Queen. 

If it be. 

Why seems it so particular with thee? 

(RoLLO, zvho has mf ended to play in the simple 
modern manner, is by this time infected zvith 
the old-school zvork of the others, and begins 
to sing his lines.) 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 73 

Hamlet. 

Seems, madam, nay it is, I know not seems. 

(He rises, letting his cloak fall hack on seat.) 
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
Nor customary suits of solemn black. 
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 
Nor the dejected havior of the visage 
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of 
grief— 

(GoLDiE enters,) 

GoLDiE. (Softly) Roilo ! 
Hamlet. 

That can denote me truly, these indeed seem 

For they are actions, that a man might play. 
GoLDiE. (Louder) Rollo! 
Hamlet. 

But I have that within, which passeth show, 

These but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
King. (Taking Rollo's cue to ignore Goldie) 

'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, 
Hamlet, to 

Give these mourning duties to your father. 
Goldie. (Desperately) Oh, stop — wait — it's 

your Grandfather 

Hamlet. 

Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, 

(King and Queen rise.) 

Hamlet. Sit down! 

(King and Queen sit.) 

Hamlet. 

Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! 



74 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Or that the everlasting had not fix'd 

His canon 'gainst self slaughter O, God! God! 

GoLDiE. You will forgive me when you hear 
what it's about — you must come with me at once. 

RoLLO. (Still trying to save the play. Severely 
to GoldieJ Begone, girl — art mad before thy time ? 

GoLDiE. No, no — oh, please — you must believe 
me. Your Grandfather — has sent for you — 

Hamlet. (Angrily) Get thee to a nunnery, and 
quickly, too. 

GoLDiE. Surely he's more important than all this. 

RoLLO. A grandfather is important — even neces- 
sary — but there is a time and place for everything. 

GoLDiE. But he's ill — very ill — no one else would 
tell you. 

RoLLO. (To Goldie) Is this true? Think well 
before you speak — for if I leave this scene, my future 
hopes are quite, quite — blasted. 

Goldie. Yes, oh, yes — it's true! 

RoLLO. (In a casual voice) Then that's the end 
of it as far as I'm concerned. (He walks off the 
stage.) 

CURTAIN 



ACT III 

Scene i : The morning room of Grandfather 
Webster's house at Shelhrooke. 

An old-fashioned hut delightfully furnished 
room. Door into hall l.u.e. French door lead- 
ing into garden r.u. Door into other parts of 
house R.2E. Fireplace l. In front of this a 
wing chair, facing footlights. On rise Horatio 
up L. at bell-cord. 

Time: A few hours later. 

Discovered : Horatio Webster and Aunt Lane. 

Horatio. And you suspected nothing? Here the 
boy was on his way to the devil and you couldn't 
get the first inkling of it. (Ringing bell l. Then 
comes down, sits in armchair.) 

Aunt Lane. If I had suspected anything, I 
wouldn't have told you, Horatio. (Seated chair l. 
of table.) 

Horatio. Oh, you wouldn't? Why wouldn't 
you? 

Aunt Lane. If you could see your face you 
wouldn't ask that question. 

Horatio. What's the matter with it? Am I 
flushed ? 

Aunt Lane. You certainly are, Horatio — you're 
angry and you shouldn't be. You've seen cider 
poured into a glass of milk. 

Horatio. What? Never saw such a thing in 
my life. What the devil would anyone do that for? 

75 



76 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Aunt Lane. That's just what you're doing, 
Horatio. Your anger sets up just such a fermenta- 
tion inside of you. All your kindly juices are af- 
fected by it. 

Horatio. Fermentation and kindly juices be 
damned ! What's he going to do ? — that's what I 
want to know. Is he going to produce some idiotic 
damn-foolerie with my name on it? 

Aunt Lane. No, Horatio. He is not going to 
play in something he has written. Not at all — not 
anything like that. 

Horatio. You've kept it all from me — that's 
what you've done. I have to hear the news from a 
common servant. "Are you pleased that Mr. Rollo 
is playing in a.theaytre this evening?" — that's the 
question that's put to me just after my dinner. 
Pleased ! Am I pleased ! 

Aunt Lane. How did Bella know anything 
about it? I suppose she's been reading Lydia's let- 
ters to me. 

Horatio. And what's Lydia doing all this time? 
W'hy doesn't she come home? 

Aunt Lane. I've told you, Horatio, she's visit- 
ing friends. You ought to be glad to have her — 
I'd like to go to town oftener myself. It was a great 
sacrifice for me to stay at home to-night. I wanted 
to go to a concert with Lydia. 

Horatio. Oh ! Well, I'm sorry. Perhaps it 
might not have been a very good concert. 

Aunt Lane. (Warily) I don't like your man- 
ner, Horatio. 

(Enter Bella r.) 

Bella. Did you ring, sir? 

Horatio. I did — long ago. My toe is very bad, 
Bella. I want you to help me into some room where 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT ^j 

I can be alone. I don't care where — if necessary, I 
can go to bed. 

Aunt Lane. (Rising and going toward door l.) 
Don't move, Horatio. If you want your cards 
they're on the library table. I would advise soli- 
taire, and a hot toddy. You can do as you like. 
(Exits zvith dignity.) 

Horatio. (His manner changing. Eagerly to 
BellaJ Bella, don't you think it's strange we've 
heard nothing from Mr. Rollo? Are you sure the 
boy you gave the message to is reliable? 

Bella. (Crosses to Horatio.) Sure he was, 
Mr. Webster. He was a sweet young fellow — ^you 
could tell from his voice. 

Horatio. What's that got to do with it? You 
made him write the message down ? You're sure he 
wrote it down? 

Bella. Sure he did, Mr. Webster. I could hear 
him writing it down as plain as anything. 

Horatio. Nonsense! What was it he said? 

Bella. He said he'd run as fast as ever he could 
to the theaytre, and I says, "Give the message to 
Mr. Hewston," just like you told me, "if you can't 
see Mr. Rollo." 

Horatio. Why doesn't he answer, then? He 
must have got it by now, mustn't he? 

Bella. How do I know, Mr. Webster? I should 
think he would. Maybe Mr. Rollo is sick. 

Horatio. I'm afraid not, Bella. I wish I could 
think so, but I'm afraid not. 

Bella. I hope I won't be punished for what I 
done — that's all, Mr. Webster. Ten dollars ain't 
much for committing a deadly sin. . 

Horatio. You did it to save Mr. Rollo. It was ^ 
a very worthy act, and ten dollars was a good price 
for it. But he thinks only of himself — he won't 
even come to see his poor old grandfather on his 



78 ROLLO^S WILD OAT 

deathbed. That's gratitude- — that's the younger gen- 
eration for you. 

Bella. But you ain't on your deathbed, Mr. 
Webster. 

Horatio. If I were it would make no difference. 
Don't idolize your grandchildren, Bella. It's a great 
mistake. Have nothing to do with them. That's 
the best way. Send them a dollar occasionally and 
let it go at that. Don't have them around where 
you'll see them and get attached to them. 

Bella. No, sir, I'll certainly look out for them, 
after seeing yours, Mr. Webster — if I have any. 

Horatio. (Not altogether pleased) Now that'll 
do. You go and sit near the telephone where you 
can hear if he calls. 

(Enter Aunt Lane l. with a pack of cards. Exit 
Bella r.) 

Aunt Lane. Here are your cards, Horatio. You 
seem to endure Bella's society very well. (Places 
cards on table. Violent ringing at hell of house 
door.) Mercy ! Who in the world wants to get into 
this house enough to ring like that? 

Horatio. (Excitedly) Wait ! Let me hear ! 
Perhaps, Lane, you'd better go out. 

(Re-enter Bella hurriedly.) 

Bella. (To Horatio, breathlessly) The mes- 
sage was delivered, sir, and he is here. Mr. Rollo 
is here. He run ahead of me into your bedroom. 
Mr. Rollo, he 

(Enter Rollo. He dashes past Bella into the room 
and throzvs himself on his knees beside his 
grandfather. Horatio lies back in the chair, 
pretending faintness. Exit Bella. Aunt 
Lane down l. of c.) 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 79 

RoLLO. (Glancmg up at x\unt Lanej Isn't there 
any hope for him? 

Aunt Lane. Hope ? Why, Rollo ! 

Horatio. (Weakly, interrupting) Yes — now 
that you've come, my boy — ^now that you've come. 

Rollo. I thought you were dying, Grandfather, 
(His head dozvn on Horatio^'s knee.) 

Horatio. I am, my boy. 

Aunt Lane. Dying? Why, your grandfather 
has no more idea of dying than I have! 

Horatio. (Explosively) How do you know 
what ideas I may have? 

Rollo. You sent for me, and the message was 
so frightful! 

Aunt Lane. Horatio! 

Rollo. Don't ! Don't speak to him like that. 

Horatio. No, Lane — don't speak to me like that. 

Aunt Lane. Is it possible, Horatio, that you 
sent for this poor child out of spite? 

Horatio. No, I did not, Lane. You know noth- 
ing of my condition. 

Aunt Lane. I know that no one could eat such 
a dinner as you did and be ill. 

Rollo. (Surprised) You — you really ate your 
dinner, Grandfather? 

Horatio. Hardly a mouthful, Rollo. Your Aunt 
Lane sat behind the centerpiece, the large fernery — 
she couldn't possibly have seen what I ate. 

Rollo. (Quiet, but suspicious) And the doc- 
tor ? Why isn't the doctor here ? 

Aunt Lane. We haven't had the doctor, Rollo. 

Rollo. (Rising) I begin to see it all. 

Horatio. (Anxiously) You don't, my boy. 

Rollo. I do. Perhaps, Aunt Lane, you had bet- 
ter leave us. 



8o ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Aunt Lane. Rollo, my poor child, come into the 
library and have a little glass of port and a biscuit 
before you talk to your grandfather. 

Rollo. No — no. 

Aunt Lane. Then let me bring it to you here. 
Just a little glass of port and a biscuit. 

Rollo. (Passing her d. of c.) Oh! You talk to 
me of port and biscuit ! Do you realize what I've 
done? That I've left my play — my theatre full of 
people, my manager, my actors — left themi all with 
no excuse for it in the world that I can ever offer! 
And myself, most of all, I've left myself there in the 
theatre. 

Horatio. Well spoken, my boy, but that will do. 

Aunt Lane. (Affected but controlling it) My 
poor child — remember, Rollo, that nothing is as 
dreadful or as important as it seems. 

(Exit Aunt Lane r. Rollo goes up to take off 
coat. Places it on settee. He is in Hamlet 
clothes.) 

Horatio. The first sensible thing I ever heard 
your xA.unt say. Now, my boy, the thing for you to 
do is to be reasonable. You told me you wanted to 
go to work. 

Rollo. (Corning doivn r. of Horatio) I did. 

Horatio. (He sees the Hamlet costume) Rollo ! 
What are you doing in those clothes ? 

Rollo. These are my working clothes, Grand- 
father. 

Horatio. What ! You are wearing the costume 
of Hamlet — the Great Dane of Elsinore ! (He rolls 
the zvords out.) My God ! 

Rollo. Don't disturb yourself about it, sir — it's 
past and — it won't occur again. 

Horatio. I should have known — yes, I should 
have suspected — Hamlet! 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 8i 

RoLLO, Grandfather, did you — did you send that 
message — just to get me here? 

Horatio. Of course not, my boy — I sent it be- 
cause I knew — I knew it would kill me if you went 
on with all that foolishness. If I had known you 
were playing Hamlet, I promise you, on my word of 
honor, I would be stone dead as I sit here. 

RoLLO. (Going closer to him) Do you realize 
what you have done. Grandfather? But no, I can't 
believe it. You must be very, very ill ! 

Horatio. Certainly, I am. Many a man at my 
age and in my condition would have his family 
gathered about his bedside — reading prayers — for 
those at sea — or something of the sort. 

RoLLO. (Turning and going c. Bitterly) And 
you can joke about it ! 

Horatio. (Impatiently) Well, my boy, you 
know how it is. In times of stress we — we rise to 
an occasion. Sickness and death and things like 
that don't trouble us — not as much as usual. 

RoLLO, (Still and tense) No one would tell me 
— they thought the play was more important — all 
but the girl who was going to play Ophelia. She 
ran out on the stage — I was just beginning my long 
speech 

Horatio. (With a look of satisfaction) Stopped 
you in the beginning, did she? 

RoLLO. I never knew how much I cared for you, 
Grandfather. I left the scene and all the people as 
if they hadn't been there — ^but now, I believe you 
have ruined my life! 

Horatio. No, my dear boy, I have not — you 
must take my word for it — I have" not. 

RoLLO. My career as an actor is over. I may be 
wrong about it — but I believe it is over. 

Horatio. No, I think you are right about that. 
But do not regret it too much, Rollo. Why, my 



82 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

boy, I — I wanted to do it when I was your age — all 
people who have any talent want to do it. 

RoLLO. (With a shred of hope) You think I have 
talent? 

Horatio. Why, I have no doubt of it, my boy. 
You would have probably made an excellent bad 
actor — just as I would. 

Bella. (Enter Bella) The young lady wants 
to know if she's to wait, or go home with the cab- 
man? 

Horatio. Young lady ! What young lady ? 

RoLLO. It's Miss MacDuff, Grandfather, the girl 
who was to play Ophelia. 

Horatio. What, and you brought her with you? 

RoLLO. We ran out of the theatre together. I 
don't know whether she followed me or I dragged 
her after me 

Horatio. (To Bella) Tell her to come in here 
— I wish to see her. 

Bella. Yes, sir. 

RoLLO. No, Grandfather. She'll understand 
your not seeing her. 

Horatio. But I wish to see her. 

Bella. The cabman says it's thirty-five dollars 
and he wants to know if he's to wait. 

Horatio. Wait? I should say so! Wait for- 
ever! 

(Exit Bella.) 

Rollo. He drove all the way from the city. 
Grandfather. When I told him it was a matter of 
life and death, he said it would be thirty-five dollars. 

Horatio. You told him ? A nice way to make a 
bargain I It's a wonder he hadn't said a hundred 
and thirty-five I 

Rollo. That's what I thought. Come in, Goldie. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 83 

(As GoLDiE hesitates in the doorzvay, Rollo crosses 
to her.) 

GoLDiE. You sent for me, Rollo? 

Horatio. (Looking at her keenly) So . . . it's 
Ophelia. (As Goldie stands zvaiting dozvn r., Rollo 
beside her) Rollo, leave me alone with her. 

Rollo. No, Grandfather — I prefer to stay — I 
won't listen to what you say, but I prefer to remain. 

Horatio. What? You go and pay the cabman. 
Have you any money on you ? 

RoLLO. No, sir. 

Horatio. Get it from your Aunt Lane in the 
library. Tell her to take it out of the housekeeping 
money. 

Rollo. (Then going to Horatio) Grandfather, 
not a word to Miss MacDuff that will hurt her feel- 
ings or I will leave this house forever. 

Horatio. Leave this room now — that's Jill I ask 
of you. I have met this sort of lady before. I 
know how to treat 'em. 

Rollo. Your actresses were not like Miss Mac- 
Duff, sir. 

Horatio. Will you go? 

Rollo. Yes, I will. (Goes to Goldie) He wants 
to speak to you alone. Don't mind anything he says. 
I wouldn't leave you, but when he gets angry he 
sometimes has a sort of fit. 

Goldie. What shall I do for him when he has it ? 

Rollo. Oh, he won't have it if I go. Don't be 
afraid of him if he should begin to jump about a 
little. He can't run very fast — he has a bad toe. 
(Rollo fakes Goldie to Horatio^ Grandfather, 
this is Miss MacDuff — Goldie, this is Grandfather. 
(To GoldieJ Are you all right? (Goldie nods. 
Exit Rollo r.j 



84 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

HoRATiON. (To GoLDiEJ Sit dowii. (She does 
so.) Are you going to marry my grandson? 

GoLDiE. (Shocked) Oh, no, no, Mr. Webster! 
I have no idea of such a thing ! 

Horatio. Oh ! And are you in the habit of run- 
ning about the country at night with young men you 
don't intend to marry? 

GoLDiE. No, really. I never did such a thing 
before. But it was so terrible to be left in the 
theatre, and we were so worried about you — and the 
idea of playing Ophelia all by myself was so dread- 
ful 

Horatio. Why? You've played Ophelia before, 
haven't you? 

GoLDiE. No, Mr. Webster, never. 

Horatio. Oh! What have you played? 

GoLDiE. Why, nothing very much, Mr. Webster. 
I've been mostly — in musical shows. 

Horatio. Oh, you sing. 

GoLDiE. No, I don't. 

Horatio. Don't you have to sing to be in musi- 
cal shows? 

GoLDiE. No. You — you don't. 

Horatio. Oh — well, what are the qualifications 
necessary ? 

GoLDiE. Why, different things. Mr. Webster. 

Horatio. What in 3'our case? 

GoLDiE. Why, I think it was my ankles — mostly. 

Horatio. Oh ! And your qualifications for play- 
ing Ophelia were the same, I suppose? 

GoLDiE. Yes, Mr. Webster — I mean, I hadn't 
any. I was the one all along to — to beg your grand- 
son not to play Hamlet. Not to be an actor at all — 
to — to take an interest in airbrakes. 

Horatio. Airbrakes? What do you know about 
airbrakes ? 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 85 

GoLDiE. Nothing — nothing at all — except that 
they need to be improved. 

Horatio. Who says they do? 

GoLDiE. He told me. 

Horatio. Rollo? (Goldie nods,) Well, he'll 
be a great help to the business. So he told you that. 
(Eyeing her suspiciously) And a great many other 
things, I suppose. 

Goldie. What do you mean, Mr. Webster? 

Horatio. Well, enough to make you think he 
was a pretty desirable young man. Come, now, 
didn't he ? He told you that he had a large country 
place. 

Goldie. Yes, Mr. Webster. He told me about 
this place and the garden — and — you 

Horatio. I see. And you thought it would be 
very easy to annex this young gentleman and his 
possessions 

Goldie. No, Mr. Webter, I didn't. 

Horatio. Well, it might be hard — but a good 
business stroke. 

Goldie. (Rising with dignity, almost weeping) 
What I thought doesn't matter, Mr. Webster. And 
what you may think of me doesn't matter, for I 
shall not see either you or Rollo — after to-night. 

Horatio. (Pleased) There, that's right! I like 
to see you show some spirit. Now sit right down 
by me again and tell me • 

Goldie. No, I must go, Mr. Webster. 

Horatio. Where are you going? 

Goldie. I don't know — but before I go I want 
to tell you that Rollo hasn't the slightest idea of — 
of what we've been talking about. Of — of me. 

Horatio. What makes you think he hasn't ? 

Goldie. Well, while he may like me, Mr. Web- 
ster, I am sure there are others that he likes as well — 
or better. 



86 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Horatio. Others ? What do you mean by that ? 
Actresses ? 

GoLDiE. I really couldn't tell you — I don't mean 
anything. 

Horatio. Then I'll have that young rascal in 
here and make him tell me. Ring the bell! 

GoLDiE. No, Mr. Webster — you must promise 
me first that you won*t say one word of what we 
have been talking about. In the first place, it will 
make Rollo very angry. 

Horatio. Dear, dear, how terrifying! 

GoLDiE. Promise me you won't speak of — of her 
— and I'll ring the bell. 

Horatio. Certainly I promise. Not a word — just 
let me get after him. (Goldie stops suspiciously.) 
Just about the airbrakes, my dear — that's all. 

(Goldie rings the bell l.) 

Goldie. (On her way to door r.) Good-bye, 
Mr. Webster. 

Horatio. Don't go any further than the library. 

(Enter Bella. Goldie goes quickly out R.) 

Bella. Did you ring, sir? 

Horatio. Find Mr. Rollo and tell him to come 
here at once. 

Bella. Yes, sir. The housemaid says she'll 
leave if he's going to wear those clothes around the 
house. 

Horatio. You tell her to go to the devil ! 

Bella. Yes, sir. 

Horatio. Tell her if she wasn't a drivelling idiot 
she would know that that is a very beautiful costume 
— one that many men would die to wear. 

Bella. Yes, sir. I should think they would — 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 87 

unless someone killed 'em first. (Exits r., pass- 
ing above Rollo, as he enters.) 

(Enter Rollo. Crosses l. to Horatio. Sits r. of 
Horatio.) 

Rollo. Goldie told me, Grandfather, that you 
wished to speak to me. 

Horatio. So — in addition to everything else, 
youVe been making a damned ass of yourself over 
women. (Rollo puts his head down on his arm. 
Horatio is alarmed.) Rollo, what are you doing? 
You're not crying! 

Rollo. (Sitting up) No, sir. 

Horatio. (Roughly pulling him over to him) 
Don't you know that you're all I care about in the 
world? Why do you want to disgrace me — raising 
Cain all over New York City? 

RoLLO. I'll admit that I'm an utter failure — and 
— and I'll go into the business of selling airbrakes 
at once. 

Horatio. Do you suppose I want an utter fail- 
ure selling airbrakes? I wouldn't have you in my 
business. 

Rollo. (Without spirit) Perhaps someone will 
have me, somewhere. 

Horatio. (Conciliatory) You're very young, 
Rollo — ^but I wouldn't mind your marrying at all if 
you'd marry someone I wouldn't object to. 

Rollo. Thank you, Grandfather — but I'd mind 
marrying anyone you wouldn't object to, I'm sure — 

Horatio. No, my boy. Now tell me — is there 
anyone — have you anyone in mind? 

Rollo. No, sir. 

Horatio. Come, come, my boy, don't say that. I 
know there is someone. 



88 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

RoLLO. If you mean Miss MacDuff, she won't 
have me. I just asked her in the hall. 

Horatio. What the devil did you do that for ? 

RoLLO. I saw you had been making her cry. Be- 
sides — I felt like it. (Goes to bell l. and rings.) 

Horatio. That little chorus girl — you asked her 
to — ^to marry you? 

RoLLO. (Corning to R. of Horatio) She's a 
wonderful girl, Grandfather. Her Grandmother was 
the greatest actress in England. 

Horatio. I don't believe it. What was her 
name? 

RoLLO. Her name was Mary Mowe. 

Horatio. Mary Mowe? Rollo — I — I — of all 
the 

RoLLO. Stop, Grandfather! You shall not say 
one word against her ! 

Horatio. Oh, shan't I? 

RoLLO. No, sir — not a word. 

Horatio. How do you know what I was going 
to say? 

RoLLO. I can imagine it was nothing good. 

Horatio. Oh, you can! What right have you 
to imagine what I was going to say ? I daren't men- 
tion her name in your presence — is that it? 

RoLLO. I know how you hate actresses 

Horatio. You'll never know now what I was 
going to say — not if you beg me on your knees. 

RoLLO. What was it, Grandfather? 

Horatio. Silence — you have deeply offended me. 

RoLLO. I'm very sorry, sir. 

Horatio. That doesn't alter it. (A violent ring- 
ing at the house bell.) Now who's that at this hour 
of the night? 

RoLLO. (Listening) It's Lydia ! 

Lydia. (Off) Where is he? Let me go to him! 
(Rushing in.) Rollo, you didn't tell me Oh, 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 89 

my dear, darling Grandfather! (She kneels by 
Horatio, enveloped in her cloak.) 

RoLLO. There's nothing- to be excited about, Lyd. 
He's not sick at all. 

Lydia. Why, what do you mean? I saw the 
message. Hewston showed it to me. 

RoLLO. I know. It was a joke or something. 

Lydia. A joke? But I don't understand. 

RoLLO. Why, where's your sense of humor? 

Lydia. You're not sick. Grandfather! But how 
dreadful ! 

Horatio. Oh, dreadful, is it? You'd rather find 
your old Grandfather on his death-bed than not? 

Lydia. No, no, Grandfather, I only mean I 
wouldn't have come if I had known. (She rises. 
Her cloak falls hack, disclosing the Page's costume.) 

Horatio. Lydia, what have you got on? Did 
you wear those clothes to the concert? 

Lydia. Doesn't he know? I was in the play. 
Grandfather. This is my Prologue costume. 

Horatio. Prologue! I should think so. (To 
RoLLo) And you permitted this? 

Lydia. No, he didn't. I made him let me do it. 
(Going to Rollo. Softly) Oh, RoUo, what shall 
I do about Mr. Lucas? 

RoLLO. (Briefly) Forget him ! 

Lydia. But I can't — he's in the cab. 

RoLLO. In the cab? Have the driver start for 
New York as quickly as possible. 

(Enter Bella with hot toddy zvhich she sets on 
table.) 

Bella. The cabman says he won't go back to 
New York to-night. It's too late and he don't know 
the detours good enough. 

Horatio. What's that? Another caU? 



90 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Lydia. How did you suppose I came, Grand- 
father? 

RoLLO. How much is it, Lyd? 

Lydia. I don't know. 

RoLLO. Oh! Didn't you make a bargain with 
him? 

Lydia. A bargain ! When Grandfather was 
dying ? 

Horatio. Just one more surprise for me now 
and you can call the doctor, for I shall need him ! 

(As if in answer to his request, Lucas stands in the 
doorway, we-aring his Laertes costume.) 

RoLLO. Here it is ! 

Lucas. I beg your pardon. 

Horatio. Is this the cabman? 

Lydia. (Falteringly, to Lucas) There's nothing 
the matter with Grandfather at all. 

RoLLO. Grandfather, this is Mr. Lucas. He was 
in the play, too, as you see. 

Lucas. Delighted to meet you, sir, Mr. Webster ; 
and more glad than I can say that there's nothing 
the matter. 

Horatio. How do you do? Is the entire com- 
pany here, Rollo? Because if so, you can go on 
with the play, I should think. 

Lucas. (To Rollo, drawing him aside) I'm in 
a rather difficult position, Mr. Webster. I haven't a 
cent in my clothes to pay the cabman. 

Rollo. A cent wouldn't do you very much good. 
(Raising his voice) My Grandfather wouldn't think 
of allowing you to pay the cabman. (To Horatio) 
Aunt Lane, Grandfather? 

Horatio. I suppose so. (Exit Rollo r. Lucas 
crosses l. of table.) So you brought my grand- 
daughter out here? How did that happen? 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 91 

Lydia. (Going to chair r. of Horatio. She sits) 
I asked him to, Grandfather. Wasn't it dreadful 
of me? 

Lucas. Not at all. I was glad to be of service 
in such a serious — I mean — we believed it to be 
serious — occasion. How did the rumor start? 

Horatio. Rumor — it wasn't a rumor — I was very 
sick indeed. 

Lucas. Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I didn't understand. 

Horatio. I'm subject to sinking spells and I had 
one. 

Lucas. (Sympathetically) I see. Your heart? 

Horatio. (Wickedly) No — my toe. Tell me — 
how was Rollo getting on? 

Lydia. I thought he was splendid! 

Lucas. Oh, he did very well, Mr. Webster, espe- 
cially when he was stopped. I mean he had just / 
begun to let himself go. Then, of course, it was ter- '' 
rible for us all. I only thought of myself and how 
to get off the stage. And when the opportunity 
came to run out of the theatre. I was delighted, really. 
Not that I wasn't deeply distressed, at the same time. 

(Enter Aunt Lane. Lydia crosses quickly to her.) 

Aunt Lane. (Embracing Lydia) Lydia, my 
dear child ! And Mr. Lucas, this is delightful ! 

Horatio. Delightful, is it? 

Aunt Lane. I had no idea my dull evening was 
going to turn out like this. 

Lucas. Why, thank you. Miss Lane. It certainly 
is delightful to see you again, but it seems terrible 
to intrude upon you like this. And I'm awfully 
afraid I'll have to ask you to keep me overnight. 

Aunt Lane. Why, of course, Mr. Lucas. We 
wouldn't dream of letting you go. Here's a nice 
hot drink I've just had made for Mr. Webster; you 



92 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

must have it. (As he protests) Yes, you must! 
You're so thinly dressed. (Aunt Lane presses it 
upon him. He takes the glass reluctantly.) 

Lydia. Yes, he didn't even have a coat. 

Lucas. I rarely ever wear a coat. But are you 
sure you won't have this, Mr. Webster? (Offering 
the glass to Horatio.) 

Aunt Lane. No. He wasn't going to drink it, 
were you, Horatio? 

Horatio. Evidently not. 

Aunt Lane. He was quite annoyed with me for 
making it for him. 

RoLLO. (Enters R. Crosses above the others to 
HoratioJ Aunt Lane hasn't the money. It's $50, 
Grandfather, but the cabman is willing to stay all 
night and take a check in the morning. 

Horatio. (Cries out sharply) Ah! 

Lydia. Oh, what is it, Grandfather? 

Aunt Lane. It's just his toe. Come, let us go 
into the library. I think it will be pleasanter and 
3-our Grandfather likes to be alone, with his toe. 
Good-night, Horatio. 

Lydia. Good-night, Grandfather. 

Lucas. Good-night, Mr. Webster. (They go out 
R. and leave him, Lucas carrying the toddy,) 

RoLLO. Grandfather, I don't suppose you're going 
to use the car to-night? I'll get Jonas up and drive 
to the city, if you've no objections. 

Horatio. Oh! What utter damn foolishness 
every damn thing I've had on my mind this damn 
night is ! 

(RoLLO rings the hell.) 

RoLLO. Well, at least my damn-foolishness won't 
disturb you any further, Grandfather. I won't see 
you again for a long time. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 93 

Horatio. What do you mean by that? 
(Enter Bella r.J 

Bella. Did you ring, Mr. Webster ? 

RoLLO. Bella, ask Miss Lane for a wrap for Miss 
MacDuff. I'm taking her back to the city to-night. 

Bella. Miss Lane has lent the young lady a 
nightgown and put her to bed in the room off hers. 

RoLLO. Can I stay here to-night. Grandfather? 

Horatio. How dare you ask me that question? 
You know I never wanted you to go in the first 
place. And what do you mean by "I won't see you 
again for a long time" ? 

RoLLO. It will be much better, Grandfather. I 
shall never be the same again. I'd just be a gloomy 
spirit moving through these rooms. 

Horatio. Bella, make a hot drink for Mr. Rollo 
and one for me, and put them on our night tables. 
Rollo, my boy, you'll feel entirely different when 
you get those clothes off. Lay out a bright, cheerful 
suit of pajamas for Hamlet, Bella. I mean for Mr. 
Rollo. 

Rollo. (Sitting sadly in chair l. of table) That's 
it, just plain — Rollo — Webster. 

CURTAIN 



ACT III 

Scene 2 : The same, the following morning. 

At Rise: Discovered, Bella and Lydia. Bella 

has a large box. Lydia is arranging roses in 

bozvl on table c. 

Lydia. What is it, Bella? (As Bella enters l. 
and crosses to Lydia.) 

Bella. It's for Mr. George Lucas, marked 
"Special." 

Lydia. It's his clothes. You must take it right 
up to him, Bella. Wait a minute! (She fastens a 
rose in the cord.) 

Bella. Mercy ! He'll be glad enough to get 'em 
without roses, I should think. 

Lydia. Did he seem to enjoy his breakfast, 
Bella? Did he say anything about my orange mar- 
malade ? 

Bella. No, he just swallowed it down. He's 
too much of a gentleman to complain about any- 
thing, I guess. 

Lydia. Complain? Why, except that it's a little 
burnt, it's the best I ever made. Hurry along, 
Bella. (Enter Rollo l.) Rollo, his clothes have 
come. Soon he'll be dressed and speaking to Grand- 
father. 

Rollo. Who? 

Lydia. George. Mr. Lucas. Oh, Rollo, if you 
would only tell Grandfather what a splendid man 
he is! 

94 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 95 

RoLLO. Why should I? I don't know what a 
splendid man he is. What's he going to speak to 
Grandfather about? 

Lydia. About me. 

RoLLO. Good heavens, Lyd ! He isn't really go- 
ing to speak to Grandfather seriously, is he? 

Lydia. Of course he is. Why shouldn't he? 

RoLLO. Do you think we want you marrying 
men like that? That you've only known a few 
minutes ? Actors ! Bad actors, at that ! 

Lydia. He's not a bad actor. 

RoLLO. Actors are unkind to their wives, Lyd. 

Lydia. How do you know they are? 

RoLLO. I read it somewhere. Lucas will be un- 
kind to his wife. He's just the type. I shouldn't 
wonder if he killed her. 

Lydia. Why, Rollo, how can you say such 
things ? He has the tenderest heart ! And he loves 
birds and flowers. 

Rollo. Murderers always do. It's a fact. Birds 
come and sit on their cell windows and they always 
have an old flower-pot with a blade of grass in it, 
or something. But it's after they've committed the 
murder. 

Lydia. Oh, I think you're dreadful, Rollo! 
You're making fun of a sacred thing — my love for 
George Lucas. 

Rollo. Your love? Why, Lyd, you dear little 
soul, you know no more about love . . . 

Lydia. Than you do, I suppose? How about 
Goldie MacDuff ? 

Rollo. Why bring her in ? What has she to do 
with it? 

Lydia. Well, you think you're in love with her, 
don't you? 

Rollo. Be quiet ! Don't go yelling around like 
that about love. It's disgusting. 



96 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Lydia. Is it? I don't see why your love is any 
more sacred than mine. 

RoLLO. You're impossible ! But Tm fond of you 
just the same, Lyd. If it hadn't been for me, you'd 
never have met this objectionable fellow. It's my 
fault, in a way, and it's up to me to do something 
about it. 

Lydai. Rollo. if you do, I'll never forgive you — 
never! I love you now because you've brought this 
great happiness into my life. 

Rollo. Go "easy, dear. I've just finished my 
breakfast. 

Lydia. If you do anything to separate us 

Rollo. I won't have to. Grandfather will settle 
it. Why, Lucas hasn't got a cent. 

Lydia. How do you know he hasn't? He told 
me he longed for his own place in the hills of Sur- 
rey. How can you long for a thing if you haven't 
got it? 

Rollo. It's the easiest thing in the world. 

Lydia. And he said he loved to ride his horse 
with the wind blowing in his teeth, or something 
like that. So he must have a stable. (Sits in chair 
L. of table. Rollo goes to her.) 

Rollo. The wind will blow in your teeth on a 
horse from a livery stable just as well, dear. No, you 
must give him up. Yes, you must. But I'll take 
you away. We'll go on a trip around the world. 

Lydia. How can we? You haven't any money. 
You've spent it all on Hamlet. 

Rollo. We'll take yours and go. 

Lydia. We couldn't go around the world on mine. 

Rollo. We could go half-way around and Grand- 
father would send for us by the time we got to 
Singapore or some such place. 

Lydia. (Suspiciously) Goldie has refused you, 
I suppose? 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 97 

RoLLO. (Sadly) We won't speak of her, if you 
don't mind. 

Lydia. (Sympathetically) She doesn't know 
what a darling you are. Shall I tell her? 

RoLLO. (Going u.c.) No. Here's Grandfather. 
Do you want to speak to him? 

(Enter Horatio l.j 

Lydia. (Rising, going to garden exit) No, I 
don't. Good morning, Grandfather! 

Horatio. Good morning! I am glad to see you 
attired in something more appropriate than the cos- 
tume you were wearing last night. 

Lydia. And I'm glad to see you looking more 
like yourself this morning, Grandfather. 

Horatio. Lydia, where is your hair? 

Lydia. I left it in New York. 

Horatio. You cut it off ? 

Lydia. I did it for Shakespeare. (Cheerfully to 
RoLLoJ The iris is out. Did you know it? 

RoLLO. Yes, I read it in the paper. 

Lydia. I'm going to pick some for Ophelia to 
take back to the city. (Exits.) 

Horatio. Lydia seems very happy this morning. 

RoLLO. Yes, I'm afraid she won't be happy long. 
I feel I ought to tell you. Grandfather. (Horatio, 
sitting at table R., sets up his solitaire.) Mr. Lucas 
is going to have a talk with you. 

Horatio. Who is he? 

RoLLO. (Sitting r. of Horatio) Why don't you 
remember last night, Grandfather? 

Horatio. No, I'm trying to forget it. 

RoLLO. Mr. Lucas is the gentleman who brought 
Lydia out. The man in the tan tights. 

Horatio. I don't care to remember him. 

RoLLO. But Lydia says a beautiful thing has 



98 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

come into her life and she means him, and we've 
got to do something about it. 

Horatio. Have him taken to the train. 

RoLLO. We can't do that, Grandfather. If he 
wants to talk to you, I'm afraid you'll have to listen 
to him. 

Horatio. I don't see that. 

RoLLO. If you refuse, he might run away with 
her. 

Horatio. Oh, he's that sort, is he? 

RoLLO. I don't know anything about him except 
that it would be terrible to have him around the 
house, forever reminding us of last night. 

Horatio. Ah, there it is, Rollo. You can't do 
things without involving others. You went off to 
the city, and where is it going to end ? 

(Lucas stands in the doorway r. j 

RoLLO. I hope it is going to end here, Grand- 
father. Good morning, Mr. Lucas. 

Lucas. Am I intruding? 

Rollo. No, not at all. Grandfather, you re- 
member Mr. Lucas? 

Horatio. Good morning, sir. 

Lucas. Good morning, Mr. Webster. I hope 
you're feeling better this morning. 

Horatio. I'm feeling as well as can be expected 
under the circumstances. I understand you wish 
to speak with me. Is that so ? 

Lucas. Why, yes, Mr. Webster. Since you put 
it that way. I do. 

RoLLO. Lydia told me you did. And I told 
Grandfather. 

Lucas. Where is your sister, Mr. Webster? 

RoLLO. She's in the garden, waiting for the iris 
to come out, I believe. I'll leave you. (Exits l.) 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 99 

(Horatio continues to play solitaire.) 

Lucas. (Crosses to Horatio) Yes, Mr. Web- 
ster, I did want to see you about something very 
important. During the weeks we have been thrown 
together, I have become greatly interested in your 
granddaughter. This feeh'ng has ripened into some- 
thing deeper. 

Horatio. Just a moment. (Placing a card with 
care.) Yes, go on. 

Lucas. (A little embarrassed) Yes. This feel- 
ing has deepened into something riper. I venture 
to hope that my sentiment is returned, but before 

assuring myself of this (His eyes on the cards) 

Excuse me, Mr. Webster, but you could put that 
two on the three. 

Horatio. Where ? 

Lucas. There. The two of clubs on the three 
next the queen. 

Horatio. I know it. I don't want to. You've 
said nothing to my granddaughter? 

Lucas. No, Mr. Webster. Nothing serious. Of 
course, I saw a good deal of her during rehearsals. 
And then last night 

Horatio. I should think so. 

Lucas. Her trouble drew us together. I tried to 
comfort her, naturally. 

Horatio. But you haven't asked her to marry 
you? 

Lucas. No, Mr. Webster, I give you my word I 
have not. 

Horatio. Don't ! That's my advice. She's noth- 
ing but a child. 

Lucas. I'm perfectly willing to wait, Mr. Web- 
ster. 

Horatio. Don't ! I wouldn't give my consent if 
you waited until she was a hundred. 



100 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Lucas. Oh, you object to me for some reason? 

Horatio. I do. Sit down. You're an actor, 
and I don't want one in my family. 

Lucas. How about your grandson? 

Horatio. Rollo is not an actor. And he never 
will be. He has left the stage forever. 

Lucas. I would be perfectly willing to leave the 
stage forever, Mr. Webster. 

Horatio. Why would you? Aren't you any 
good? 

Lucas. Well, I wouldn't say that exactly. But 
there are other things that interest me far more. 

Horatio. My granddaughter? 

Lucas. Certainly. But I was thinking of some- 
thing else. 

Horatio. What were you thinking of? 

Lucas. I was thinking of steam pumps. 

Horatio. You don't say? Do you know any- 
thing about steam pumps? 

Lucas. There's nothing I don't know about 
them, Mr. Webster. I made them a special study. 
My ambition was to be an electrical engineer, but 
my father wanted me to go on the stage. 

Horatio. What a damned fool! 

Lucas. Yes — dear old man. 

Horatio. Hm! Well, now, I'm very much in- 
terested in a steam pump. The Dugdale — ^perhaps 
you've heard of it. 

Lucas. No. Mr. Webster. Is it used in Eng- 
land? 

Horatio. No, it isn't. But it ought to be. Lucas, 
I'd like to get you back in honest work. The thea- 
tre isn't honest. There's something wrong with 
everyone connected with it. Now, how would you 
like to take my pump to England? 

Lucas. I wouldn't object at all, Mr. Webster. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT loi 

Horatio. (Glancing at him, and then looking 
away) The trouble is, 3^ou don't look like it. 

Lucas. Don't look like a steam pump? 

Horatio. That's it exactly. 

Lucas. You can trust me, Mr. Webster, as an 
actor, to simulate what I fail naturally to express. 

Horatio. You mean you can act like a steam 
pump ? 

Lucas. Fm sure I can. 

Horatio. Lucas, it's too bad. You're a man of 
some quality — I can see that — (Glancing at him.) 
But I could never stand it — no, if you go to England 
in my interests you must never come back — not, at 
least, until I'm dead. 

Lucas. I understand, Mr. Webster — but you'll 
let me know, won't you ? 

Horatio. I'll tell them at my New York office, 
17 Broome Street, that you're connected with us — 
m a business way. 

Lucas. Certainly, Mr. Webster. I understand. 
You don't object to my saying good-bye to your 
granddaughter, Mr. Webster? 

Horatio. Delighted to have you. But don't make 
it long, you know. The longer you make it the 
harder it will be for me 

Lucas. I'll make it very short. Mr. Webster. 

Horatio. And you'll take the steam pump over 
to England? 

Lucas. (Rising) It's not romantic, but I will. 

Horatio. (Rising) It may not be romantic, but 
it's solid — it's utilitarian. 

Lucas. (Smiling) A steam pump? Oh, come, 
Mr. Webster. As man to man — I know of nothing 
so temperamental. Good-bye. (Shaking hands.) 
And I hope I won't come back for years — really I 
do. (Exits into garden.) 



I02 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Horatio. Damn it all — there's something to him ! 
That's the worst of it. 

(Horatio exits l. Enter Bella and Stein r.) 

Bella. (At door) Just step in here, please. 
(Stein enters.) Will he know who you are? 

Stein. Oh, yes. He knows me. 

Bella. You haven't any books to sell or some- 
thing of that kind? 

Stein. No, I'm sorry. But I didn't bring any 
books with me. 

Bella. He wouldn't have seen you if you had, 
that's all. 

Stein, (l.) It is young Mr. W^ebster that I 
wish to see, you understand. . . . 

Bella. Oh, Mr. Rollo — just a moment. 

Stein. (Gently) Did the old man die last night? 

Bella. I don't know. He ain't dead this morn- 
ing. 

(Exit Bella r. Enter Goldie r. She is wearing a 
morning dress of Lydia^s.) 

Goldie. (Surprised to see him) Oh, Mr. Stein — 
I'm so glad to see you. . . . 

Stein. Goldie! So this is where you came when 
you went. 

Goldie. (d. r. to Stein) Yes — you must take 
me back to the city with you. When are you go- 
ing? 

Stein. I came to see Mr. Webster. After I see 
him I expect to go. W^hat are you doing here? 

Goldie. Oh, I don't know. I ought never to 
have come. 

Stein. Was you invited ? 

Goldie. No, I wasn't. I came last night with 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 103 

Mr. Webster. I knew you would be terribly angry 
with me for breaking up the show — and then I was 
so worried about — Mr. Webster's grandfather. 

Stein. Oh. Well, I'm through with you for 
Shakespeare, Goldie — but put on your hat — and I 
will maybe get you into something — if it is only a 
railroad train. 

GoLDiE. (Going toward door r.) Thank you so 
much, Mr. Stein. 

(Enter Rollo l. Crosses to Goldie at door r.) 

RoLLO. (Plainly nervous, hut controlling him- 
self) Good morning, Mr. Stein. Good morning, 
Goldie — I hope you slept well. 

Goldie. I didn't sleep at all. And I was so fright- 
ened when I woke up. 

RoLLO. I'm sorry. 

Goldie. Mr. Stein is going to take me home. 
But first, I'm to see your Grandfather. He sent 
this note to me this morning. (Gives Rollo note.) 

Rollo. (Reading) "Meet me near the large 
chair in the sitting room at ten thirty promptly." 
Do you wish me to be here ? 

Goldie. I don't think your being here would do 
any good. 

Rollo. Are you afraid of him? 

Goldie. Not very. Good-bye, Rollo, if I don't 
see you again. 

RoLLO. (Taking her hand) Oh! You can say 
good-bye like that? After all we've been through 
together ? 

Goldie. Why, there isn't any other way to say 
good-bye, Rollo, but just to say it, is there? 

Rollo. Sometimes there isn't. (He drops her 
hand. Goldie goes.) 



104 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Stein. (Good-naturedly) Well, Mr. Webster, 
how do you feel this morning? 

RoLLO. Mr. Stein, if there's anything I can do 
about last night, just let me know — and I'll do it. I 
feel worse than you possibly can. I 

Stein. Have you seen the papers? 

RoLLO. No, I had them all destroyed. 

Stein. It don't matter — I have the notices. 

RoLLO. I beg that you will spare me, really. 

Stein. But you don't understand, Mr. Webster 
— the notices are all favorable. (Taking out paper 
notices. Sits l. of table c.) This is Fume — you 
know how irritable he is — he is crazy about us. 

RoLLO. (r. of table c.) Just a moment, Mr. 
Stein. Did the performance go on, after I left? 

Stein. Sure we went on. (Reads) "All doubts 
of the commercial value of Shakespeare were dis- 
pelled last night at the Oddity Theatre, where Ham- 
let was produced by the Rollster Producing Com- 
pany, Incorporated." 

RoLLO. But how could you have gone on after I 
left? 

Stein. Wait ! (Reads) "Mr. Rollster appeared 
in the name part. The indisposition of the young 
man was noticeable from the first." 

RoLLO. Stop — did you say was noticeable from 
the first? 

Stein. "From the first " 

RoLLO. (Taking paper) "From the first " 

(Waving Stein off as he reads) "When the im- 
pressario announced that he had withdrawn from 
the cast and asked, Ts there a Hamlet in the house ?' 
the response was almost unanimous, and a favorable 
comment on the classical education of our English 
speaking public." Why, Mr. Stein, this is pure sar- 
casm — ygu don't take this seriously 

Stein. We are taking money at the box office 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 105 

seriously, Mr. Webster. You haven't come to what 
was the surprise of the evening. Read it — I Hke to 
hear it again. 

RoLLO. "The surprise of the evening was Mr. 
James Hewston, who was found to be in Mr. Roll- 
ster's dressing room and perfectly conversant with 
the role. From the moment he stepped upon the 
stage the house was in an uproar." (Looks up in 
astonishment ai Stein.J Hewston played the part? 

Stein. (Rising, goes to Rollo) The biggest 
laughing hit in the world — that's what it is. I will 
say — that you were not as funny in the part as I 
thought you would be. 

Rollo. Thanks. What is it you want of me, 
Mr. Stein — my time is limited. 

Stein. I want you to persuade Hewston to stay 
in the part. He isn't as pleased as I am over the 
way it went. 

Rollo. Oh, he's not? 

Stein. You tell him, Rollo, that people always 
laugh more or less over these old shows — after all, 
how could anyone that lived as long ago as Shakes- 
peare know what would be funny now? 

Rollo. Where is Hewston? 

Stein. He came on the same train as I did — but 
he took a walk from the station, I guess. He says 
he was nervous. 

Rollo. I'll see him when he comes. (As Hora- 
tio enters door l.) Grandfather, this is Mr. Stein. 

Stein. I have always wanted to meet you, Mr. 
Webster. 

Horatio. Glad to meet you. Sorry, I have a very 
important engagement this morning. 

Rollo. Would you mind stepping outside a mo- 
ment? 

Stein. Not at all. Come with me and I will fin- 
ish telling you. Mrs. Park-Gales was Ophelia and 



io6 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

when she got mad — believe me, it meant something ! 
As for the Queen, you will laugh your head off 

when I tell you who doubled in the Queen 

(Exit Stein and Rollo.) 

(Horatio, looking at his watch, seats himself in the 
large chair r._, expecting Goldie. Enter Aunt 
Lane. Horatio hears her.) 

Horatio. (Thinking it is Goldie) Come here, 
my dear, and sit by me. 

Aunt Lane. (Crosses to him) I will, Horatio. 
I want you to make out a check for the eighty-five 
dollars I've spent out of my housekeeping money 
for cabs. 

Horatio. Eighty-five dollars! I thought it was 
thirty-five. 

Aunt Lane. (Sitting r. of HoratioJ There 
were two — the first was thirty-five and the second 
was fifty. 

Horatio. I'll attend to it later, Lane. I don't 
wish to be disturbed now. 

Aunt Lane. I'm afraid I shall have to disturb 
you about something else, too, Horatio. Coming 
through the garden a few minutes ago I saw Lydia 
and Mr. Lucas on the bench by the iris bed. They 
were sitting in perfect silence. 

Horatio. Well, what of it? If they couldn't 
think of anything to say to each other, how else 
could they sit ? 

Aunt Lane. It was not because they couldn't 
think of anything else to say, Horatio. It was 
because they didn't need to say anything. Besides, 
he was holding her hand. 

Horatio. I knew it. 

Aunt Lane. Yes, I believe she's madly in love 
with him. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT to; 

Horatio. Rubbish ! Madly in love — a child like 
Lydia madly in love ! 

Aunt Lane. Young girls love very deeply, 
Horatio. Well, at least, he's very handsome, and 
we need some handsome men in Shelbrooke. I 
don't think there's one. 

Horatio. Lane, do be quiet, it's all been attended 
to, I'm going to send him to England next week. 

(Enter Lydia through French door.) 

Aunt Lane. (Rising, coming dozvn c.) It's 
cruel. 

Lydia. Aunt Lane, I'm so happy ! I'm so happy, 
Grandfather! What did you say to him — to Mr. 
Lucas ? He's so happy. 

Horatio. Is he? I'm going to send him to Eng- 
land, my dear. I'm doing it for the best. That's 
all I can say. 

Lydia. I'm sure you are. But he'll come back. 
I know he'll come back. I knew it when he said 
"Goodbye" to me in the garden. He said it so 
strangely. 

Horatio. (Irritated by her cheerfulness) Strange- 
ly — oh, yes, of course. Everything to a young girl 
is strange — it has to be or it wouldn't be interest- 
ing 

Aunt Lane. There, Horatio, if it hadn't been 
for a young girl you wouldn't be in existence. 

Horatio. What do you mean by that? 

Aunt Lane. Your mother. 

Horatio. My mother was a sensible woman. 

Aunt Lane. (To Lydia, sympathetically) How 
do you mean, darling, he said "Goodbye" to you 
strangely? Did he — kiss you? 

Lydia. Oh no — only said — "Darling!" 

Aunt Lane. He said, "Darling, goodbye?" 



io8 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Lydia. (Gently correcting her) ''Goodbye, dar- 
ling." 

Horatio. (Exasperated) Be sure you get it 
right between you. As if it made the sHghtest dif- 
ference. 

Lydia. No — nothing makes the slightest differ- 
ence because he loves me. I shall sit on the garden 
bench by the iris bed and think of him every day 
until he comes back. (Lydia starts off l.J 

Horatio. Well, Vm glad she's happy, but I want 
the garden bench moved away from the iris bed. 

Aunt Lane. The garden bench will not be 
moved, Horatio. 

(Enter Goldie r.) 

GoLDiE. (Surprised to see Lydiaj Miss Bouton. 
Lydia. Tm not really, I'm his sister. 
GoLDiE. His sister! 

Lydia. Goldie, he's such a darling, he told me 
not to tell you, but he is 

(Exit Lydia into garden.) 

Aunt Lane. Miss Bouton was just a joke, we 
didn't want anyone to know. 

Horatio. Lane, I have an appointment with this 
young lady. Will you go into the garden ? 

Aunt Lane. (To Goldie with dignity) I'll be 
in the library, my dear, if you should need me. 

(Exit Aunt Lane r.) 

Horatio. Did I make you cry last night? 
Goldie. Yes, Mr. Webster. Just a little. 
Horatio. I'm sorry. Come here. (She goes to 
sit in chair L. of table c.) No, here. (She goes to 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 109 

chair r. of Horatio and sits.) I sent for you be- 
cause I wish to ask you a few questions. 

GoLDiE. Yes, Mr. Webster. 

Horatio. Questions, my dear, relating to your 
grandmother. 

GoLDiE. Oh, yes, Mr. Webster. 

Horatio. (Almost timidly) Did she— -er — did 
she ever — mention my name? 

GoLDiE. What is your name, Mr. Webster? 

Horatio. Horatio! But she always called me 
"Horry." 

GoLDiE. Well, you see I was so young when I 
left England, but I'm sure she did — to my mother 
anyway — did you know Grandma when she was 
playing ? 

Horatio. Yes, that was when I knew her. The 
beautiful Mary Mowe — you have a trace of her — 
but not much, my dear. Not much. 

GoLDiE. Oh, no, Vm not like grandma. 

Horatio. Mary was the most exquisite Ophelia 
— how I wept over her mad scene. 

GoLDiE. You would weep over mine — ^but it 
would be for a very different reason, Mr. Webster. 
I simply can't act — I don't like it — and I can't. 

Horatio. Can't you now? What do you like 
to do? 

GoLDiE. Oh, I don't know, really — I never had 
time to do anything I like — I love children and 
flowers and — my sweet-grass sewing basket — I love 
to sew — and — and put initials on things! 

Horatio. (Amused) Do you now. Poor little 
Mary — but your name isn't Mary. 

GoLDiE. Yes, Mr. Webster, it is. They call me 
Goldie but I was named after Grandma. 

Horatio. Oh, if she had only been more like 
you. 

GoLDiE. Oh, dear — no one ever said that before. 



no ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

Horatio. I would have given her all the flowers 
and children and sewing baskets and initials in the 
world — but she wouldn't have them. 

GoLDiE. Oh, really, Mr. Webster? Was it — that 
way? 

Horatio. That's the way it was, my dear — if I 
had waited — everything might have been different. 

GoLDiE. I might have been your granddaughter, 
Mr. Webster — with some little changes. 

Horatio. Yes, that's true. And now history re- 
peats itself — you refuse my grandson. He told me 
you did — last night — and I couldn't get a word out 
of him about that lady you gave me to suppose he 
was interested in. 

GoLDiE. Oh, did you speak of her — when you 
promised me you wouldn't? 

Horatio. Certainly I did. Promises like that 
are only made to be broken. 

(Enter Rollo u.c. from garden.) 

RoLLO. Grandfather — Hewston is here. I think 
perhaps we'd better see him together. 

Horatio. Why, what has happened to make 
Hewston so formidable? 

RoLLO. Mr. Stein has happened 

GoLDiE. (Crosses R.c. j Oh — and I'm going back 
to town with him. 

RoLLo. He's gone. 

GoLDiE. If someone would take me to the train? 

Rollo. (Crosses to her) Someone will, will you 
wait for me in the library? (She hesitates. Rollo 
speaks firmly.) You will wait for me in the library ! 

(Exit GOLDIE.j 

Rollo. (Crosses to chair r. of Horatio and 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT iii 

sits) They want Hewston to continue in the part 
of Hamlet, Grandfather. 

Horatio. (Who is pleasantly preoccupied, starts) 
Hewston ! To continue in what ? 

RoLLO. It seems he went on and played the part 
last night — he was very amusing, so they say. 

Horatio. Amusing ! 

RoLLO. We must try to persuade him not to. 
Grandfather — they will pay him a lot to do it — but 
I think we owe it to Shakespeare not to allow our 
butler to make him a laughing stock. 

Horatio. Why, certainly — we can have him put 
in an insane asylum without any trouble, I should 
think. Hewston playing Hamlet ! 

(Enter Hewston from the garden.) 

Hewston. Pardon me, sir. May I come in? 

RoLLO. Come in, Hewston — we were expecting 
you. 

Horatio. What is it you want to do. Hewston ? 
(To RoLLoJ Remember you are a witness. 

Hewston. (^d.r.j I wish to return to service, 
sir. 

Horatio. What ? 

Hewston. (To Rolloj I have left everything 
in order in the studio, sir. I do not wish to stay 
with anyone connected in any way with the theatre. 

RoLLO- Really ? 

Hewston. I am crushed, sir. I have played the 
greatest part in the world — and during the soliloquy, 
they laughed at me — they laughed! 

Horatio. (Unable to restrain himself) Good — 

good ('RoLLO reproves him, with a glance) I 

mean horrible, horrible ! 

Hewston. The times have changed, sir. There 



112 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

is no appreciation of greatness — the stage has been 
debased. 

RoLLO. I'm glad to hear you say so, Hewston. 

Hewston. I'm through with it — I would like 
you to give me a reference, sir. 

Horatio. Would you like to come back here, 
Hewston ? 

Hewston. Yes, sir. 

Horatio. You won't need Hewston, Rollo? 

RoLLO. No, sir — I'm going on a trip around the 
world. 

Horatio. I see. Consider yourself re-engaged 
and your wages raised to any reasonable figure, 
Hewston. 

Hewston. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. (Starts r. 
to door.) 

RoLLO. Tell Miss MacDu£f I want to speak to 
her, Hewston. 

Hewston. Long distance, sir? 

RoLLO. No, she's in the library. (As Hewston 
is about to exit. Crosses to HewstonJ Hewston, 
I feel I ought to thank you for what you did last 
night. 

Hewston. I beg that you won't, sir. I'd rather 
we never referred to the subject again. 

RoLLO. I feel the same way myself, Hewston — 
but we shouldn't. We should learn something — 
from our experience. 

Hewston. Yes, sir. 

RoLLO. I am beginning to think that Hamlet is 
a thing to be played in the privacy of one's bedroom, 
Hewston. We should no more do it before an audi- 
ence than we should pray before them. 

Hewston. Perhaps you're right, sir. 

RoLLO. Hewston — just one question — what did 
you wear? 

Hewston. My father's old Hamlet costume, sir. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 113 

I had taken it to the theatre and hung it beside 
yours. 

RoLLO. (Not pleased) Oh — you thought you 
might be called upon. 

Hewston. No, sir. Just for old times* sake — no, 
sir — if I had expected to wear it, I would have had it 
darned. 

RoLLO. Oh, Hewston — good Heavens! 

Hewston. (Agreeing) Yes, sir. 

RoLLO. I shall try and make it up to you in some 
other way, Hewston. What have you done with 
your costume? 

Hewston. I have laid it away in moth balls, 
sir. 

RoLLO. Lay mine with it. (He holds out his 
hand, zuhich Hewston takes silently. Hewston 
exits R. RoLLO comes back l. of table.) 

Horatio. You were so high and mighty with me 
last night — you never gave me a chance to tell you, 
Rollo, my actress was Mary's grandmother. 

RoLLO. Who is Mary? 

Horatio. Mary is Ophelia. 

RoLLO. Grandfather! You don't mean that your 
actress was my Goldie's grandmother? 

Horatio. No. Your Goldie's grandmother was 
my actress. Ah, those days in London, Rollo, the 
happiest days of my life. 

RoLLO. (Interested) Why didn't you stay there, 
Grandfather? 

Horatio. Mary wouldn't have me, she wouldn't 
leave the stage for anybody and I came back to 
America and married your grandmother. Then 
Mary relented — wrote me letters, such beautiful let- 
ters — but grandma was firm — I never saw her again. 

RoLLO. It's awfully sad. Grandfather, if you'd 
stayed in London I might have been a good actor. 

Horatio. (Rises and starts toward the French 



114 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

door. RoLLO to c.) Yes. If you are going to take 
a trip around the world, my boy, I suppose you want 
to see if you can persuade Mary to go with you. 
Well, I have no objections. 

RoLLO. That's too bad, sir, because she has. 

Horatio. Don't give up just because she don't 
want you. Why, I asked her grandmother at least 
a hundred times — and I know now that I lost her 
through my lack of persistence. Persistence, next to 
brute force, RoUo, is the most important of the 
virtues in dealing with women. (As he exits through 
door L.^ Oh, yes, we get to know these things too 
late — ^that's the trouble. (Exits.) 

(^RoLLO up L. Enter Goldie.j 

GoLDiE, (To below table c.) Did you want to 
speak to me? 

ROLLO. (Severely) Yes — why didn't you tell me 
that your name was Mary? 

GoLDiE. Why, Mr. Webster? Does it make any 
difference ? 

RoLLO. Of course it does. It's my favorite name. 
You told my grandfather, why keep it from me? 

GoLDiE. I'm sorry — I wouldn't have told him, 
only it came up while we were talking. 

RoLLO. He was in love with your grandmother. 

GOLDIE. I know it. 

RoLLO. He's perfectly willing for me to marry 
you. 

GoLDiE. Oh, is he? Are you sure? Did he say 
so? 

RoLLO. Yes — but what difference does it mcike? 
You're not willing. I asked you last night and — 
and you refused me. If you think I'm going to ask 
you this morning just because my grandfather is 
willing, you're mistaken. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 115 

GoLDiE. Still I can't help being glad he wouldn't 
have minded, Mr. Webster. 

RoLLO. Why it is "Mr. Webster" this morning? 
Why the excessive formality — when only last night 
it was "Rollo" and I was kissing you in my dressing 
room? 

GoLDiE. Oh, Mr. Webster, don't. It seems so 
awful to speak of such things here. 

Rollo. (Crosses to her) Where did you get 
that dress? 

GoLDiE. Lydia lent it to me. It belongs to some- 
one who's coming to spend the week end. 

RoLLO. Well, then, I certainly won't be -here. 

GoLDiE. Do you know who it belongs to ? 

RoLLo. Yes. I've often played tennis with it. 
Goldie, listen to me. If you expect me to go on 
proposing to you — the way my grandfather did to 
your grandmother — one hundred times that he re- 
members and probably more that he's forgotten, 
just put it out of your mind ! 

GoLDiE. (Sitting L. of table c.) Why, Mr. Web- 
ster? 

RoLLO. Stop calling me that. I ask you now for 
the last time — making a sum total of two. This will 
be final, Goldie — I mean it. (Stopping in fear.) If 
you like, I'll wait until you know more of what Fm 
going to develop into. The Websters are all pre- 
cisely alike, I'll get my Uncle John Webster to 
come for a visit and you can look at him — that will 
be me at middle age and I'll be just like grand- 
father when I'm seventy. That's all there is to it — 

take me or leave me. I will not go on with this 

(Stopping miserably.) 

GoLDiE. Will you let me say something ? 

RoLLo. Yes. Please say it quickly. Just one 
word. 

GoLDiE. I can't. 



ii6 ROLLO'S WILD OAT 

RoLLO. Two, then. 

GOLDIE. No. 

RoLLO. Three then, Goldie, is it the right three ? 
GoLDiE. No — Rollo, I want you to forgive 



me- 



RoLLO. (Disappointed) Oh. 

Goldie. I thought such dreadful things of you — 
because of the girl I heard singing in your apart- 
ment the first day I met you. Now I know it was 
your sister. 

RoLLO. Lydia? She doesn't sing very well, but 
I'm not responsible for that. 

Goldie. You must forgive me for what I thought. 
She was there, you see. 

Rollo. So were you ? 

Goldie. I know — but she was there first. And 
I was so surprised and disappointed — because I 
thought you were so nice. 

Rollo. I see — you thought she was a wild oat. 
It doesn't matter. Don't apologize for that. 

Goldie. Oh, Rollo — I'm so sorry about — Ham- 
let . 

Rollo. Good Heavens — don't be sorry for Ham- 
let — be sorry for me. 

Goldie. (Her handkerchief to her eyes) That's 
what I mean — you care more for him than you do 
for anybody. 

fRoLLO affected by her tears, bends over her.) 

Rollo. I don't — I don't. Why, Goldie, I realize 
now that all the time I was striding through Ham- 
let, I was really only stumbling along my way to 
you. (She sobs softly. He straightens up) I'll ask 
you to marry me again when we both feel more 
like it. 



ROLLO'S WILD OAT 117 

GoLDiE. Will you? I'd like not to be crying 
when I accept you. 

RoLLO. Then we'll go on a long journey — far 
away from here. We'll borrow your sister's baby 
so people will think we've been married a long time, 
and won't annoy us. Wouldn't you like that? 

GoLDiE. Yes. But, oh, it would even be more 
wonderful to stay here in this house and walk in 
that beautiful garden and feel that it was home. 

RoLLo. (Holding out his hand. Goldie rises.) 
Oh, well, v/e can do that, too. It won't take long 
to walk around the garden, and think about home a 
little. (They start for French door, Rollo's arm 
about Goldie. J 

GoLDiE. Rollo. (Almost zveeping) I love your 
grandfather ! 

Rollo. Never mind, darling. I love your grand- 
mother! (They go out the door into gardeyi.) 

CURTAIN 



BILLETED. 

A comedy tn 3 acts, by F. Tennison Jesse and M. Harwood. 4 
males, 5 females. One easy interior scene. A charming comedy, 
constructed with uncomraoti skill, and abounds with clever lines. 
Margaret Anglin's bi.T success. Amateurs will find this comedy easy 
to produce and popular with all audiences. Price, 60 Cents. 

NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. 

A comedy in 3 acts. By James Montgomery. 5 males, 6 females. 
Costumes, modern. Two interior scenes. Plays 2^4 hours. 

Is it possible to tell the absolute truth— even for twenty-four hours? 
It is — at least Bob Bennett, the hero of "Nothing But the Truth," 
accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his business partners, 
and the trouble he got into — with his partners, his friends, and his 
fiancee — this is the subject of William Collier's tremendous eom.edy 
hit. "Nothing But the Truth" can be whole-heartedly recommended 
as one of the most sprightly, amusing and popular comedies that this 
country cvx boast. Price, 60 Cents. 



IN WALKED JIMMY. 



A eom«dy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z. Jaffa. 10 males, 5 females (al- 
though any number of males and females may be used as clerks, 
etc.). ,Two interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2^ hours. 
The thing into which Jimmy walked was a broken-<Iown shoe factory, 
when the clerks had all been fired, and when the proprietor was in 
serious contemplation of suicide. 

Jimmy, nothing else but plain Jimmy, would have been a mysterious 
figure- had it not been for his matter-of-fact manner, his smile and 
his everlasting humanness. He put the shoe business on its feet, won 
the heart of the girl clerk, saved her erring brother from jail, escaped 
that place as a permanent boarding house himself, and foiled the 
villain. 

Clean, wholesome comedy with just a touch of human nature, just 
a dash of excitement and more than a little bit of true philosophy 
make "In Walked Jimmy" one of the most delirjhtful of plays. 
Jimmy is full of the religion of life, the religion of happiness and 
the religion of helpfulness, and he so permeates the atmosphere with 
his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of optimism, good 
cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the play. There is not a dull 
moment in any of the four acts. We strongly recommend it. 

Price, 60 Cents. 



MARTHA BY-THE-DAY. 

An ootimistic comedy in three acts, by Julie M. Lippmann, author 
of the "Martha" stories. 5 males, S females. Three interior scenes. 
Costumes modern. Plays 2^i hours. 

It is altogether a gentle thing, this play. It is full of quaint hu- 
mor, old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people who see 
the play will recall and chuckle over to-morrow and the next day. 

Miss Lippmann has herself adapted her very successful book for 
stage service, and in doing this has selected from her novel the most 
telling incidents, infectious comedy and homely sentiment for the 
play, and the result is thoroughly delightful. Price, 60 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 

irrrr mn iiii ■ ii ma^^EtamuBm%mmtamamamm nn i nmina mammamsmmmmmma^» 

SAMUEL FRENCH, 18-30 We»t 38th Street, New York City 

Miw sod Expiieft Dtserlptivs UiMtm Maiisd Fres m Rtqueit 



DOROTHY'S NEIGHBORS. 

A brand new comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "The 
New Co-Ed," "Tempest and Sunshine," and many other successful 
plays. 4 males, 7 females. The scenes are extremely easy to 
arrange; two plain interiors and one exterior, a garden, or, if neces- 
sary, the two interiors will answer. Costumes modern. Plays 2J/2 
hours. 

The story is about vocational training, a subject now widely dis- 
cussed; also, the distribution of large wealth. 

Back of the comedy situation and snappy dialogue there is good 
logic and a sound moral in this pretty play, which is worthy the 
attention of the experienced amateur. It is a clean, wholesome play, 
particularly suited to high scliool production, Price, 20 Cents. 



MISS SOMEBODY ELSE. 

A modern play in four acts by Marion Short, author of "The 
Touchdown," etc. 6 males, 10 females. Two interior scenes. Cos- 
tumes modern. Plays 2^ hours. 

This delightful comedy has gripping dramatic moments, unusual 
character types, a striking and original plot and is essentially modern 
in theme and treatment. The story concerns the advetures of Con- 
stance Darcy, a multi-millionaire's young daughter. Constance em- 
barks on a trip to find a young man who had been in her father's 
employ and had stolen a large sum of money. She almost succeeds, 
when suddenly all traces of the young man are lost. At this point 
she meets some old friends who are living in almost want and, in 
order to assist them through motives benevolent, she determines to 
sink her own aristocratic personality in that of a refined but humble 
little Irish waitress with the family that are in want. She not only 
carries her scheme to success in assisting the famib", but finds 
roman-ce and much tense and lively adventure during the period of 
her incognito, aside from capturing the young man who had defrauded 
her father. The story is full of bright comedy lines and dramatic 
situations and is highly recommended for amateur production. This 
is one of the best comedies we have ever offered with a large num- 
ber of female characters. The dialogue is bright and the play is full 
of action from start to finish; not a dull moment in it. This is a 
great comedy for high schools and colleges, and the wholesome story 
will please the parents and teachers. We strongly recommend it. 

Price, 30 Cents. 



PURPLE AND FINE LINEN. 

An exceptionally pretty comedy of Puritan New England, m three 

acts, by Amita B. Fairgrieve and Helena Miller. 9 male, 5 female 
characters. 

This is the Lend A Hand Smith College prize play. It is an ad- 
mirable play for amateurs, is rich in character portrayal of varied 
types and is not too difficult while thoroughly pleasing. 

Price, 30 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City 

New aid Explicit Discriptlve Catalogut Milifil Free en Request 



LBJa-23 



The Touch-Down 

A comedy in four acts, by Marion Short. 8 males, 6 (eitiales, but 
any number of characters can be introduced in the ensembles. Cos- 
tumes modem. One interior scene throughout the play. Time, 254 
hours. 

This play, written for the use of clever amateurs, is the story of 
life in Siddell, a Pennsylvania co-educational college. It deals witli 
the vicissitudes and final triumph of the Siddell Football Eleven, and 
the humorous and dramatic incidents connected therewith. 

"Th« Touch-Down" has the true varsity atmosphere, college songa 
are sung, and the piece is lively and entertaining throughout. High 
schools will make no mistake in producing this p^^y. We strongly 
recommend it as a high-class and well-written comedy. 

Price. 30 Cents, 

Hurry, Hurry, Hurry 

A comedy in three acts, by LeRoy Arnold, 5 males, 4 females. 
One interior scene. Coatumes modern. Plays 2>^ hours. 

The story is based on the will of an eccentric aunt. It stipulates 
that her pretty niece must he affianced before she is twenty-one, and 
married to her fiance within a year, i£ she is to ^et her spinster 
relative's million. Father has nice notions of honor and fails to tell 
daughter about the will, so that she may make her choice untram- 
meled by any other consideration than that of true love. The action, 
all takes place in the evening the midni^rht of which will see her 
reach twenty-one. Time is therefore short, and it is hurry, hurry, 
hurry, if she is to become engaged and thus save her father from 
impending bankruptcy. 

The situations are intrinsically funny and the dialogue is sprijghtly. 
The characters are natural and unaffected and the action moves with 
a snap such as should be expected from its title. Price, 30 Cents. 

The Varsity Coach 

A three-act play of college life, by Marion Short, specially adapted 
to performance by amateurs or high school students. 5 males 6 
females, but any number of boys and girls may be introduced in the 
action of the play. Two settings necessary, a college boy's room and 
the university campus. Time, about 2 hoars. 

Like many another college boy, "Bob" Selby. an all-round popular 
college man, becomes possessed of the idea that athletic prowess is 
more to be desired than scholarship. He is surprised in the midst of 
a "spread" in his room in Regatta week by a visit from his aunt 
who i« putting him through college. Aunt Serena, "a lady of the old 
school and the dearest little woman in the whole world," has hastened 
to make this visit to her adored nephew under the mistaken impression 
that he is about to receive the Fellowes prize for scholarship. Her 
grief and chagrin when she learns that instead of the prize Robert 
has received "a pink card," which is equivalent to suspension for poor 
scholarship, gives a touch of pathos to an otherwise jolly comedy of 
eolleifc life. How the repentant Robert more than redeems himself, 
carries off honors at the last, and in the end wins Ruth, the faithful 
little sweetheart of the "Prom" and the classroom, makes a story of 
dramatic interest and brings out very clearly certain phases of modern 
coll«ge life. There are several opportunities for the introduction of 
college songs and "stunts." Price, 30 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
SAMUEL FRENCH. 18-30 W«st 38th Street, New York City 

N«w and Exiiiieit Biscriptive Calaiogue Mailed fm w HequesI 



FRENCH'S 

Standard Library Edition 



Clyde Fitch 

William Gillette 

Augustus Thomas 

George Broadhurst 

Edward E. Kidder 

Percy MacKaye 

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 

Louis N. Parker 

R. C. Carton 

Alfred Sutro 

Richard Harding Davis 

Sir Arthur W. Pinero 

Anthony Hope 

Oscar Wilde 

Haddon Chambers 

Jerome K. Jerome 

Cosmo Gordon Lennox 

H. V. Esmond 

Mark Swan 

Grace L. Fumiss 

Marguerite Merrington 

Hermann Sudermann 

Rida Johnson Young 

Arthur Law 

Rachel Crothers 

Martha Morton 

H. A. Du Souchet 

W. W. Jacobs 

Madeleine Lucette Ryley 



Includes Plays by 

Booth Tarkington 
J. Hartley Manners 
James Forbes 
James Montgomery 
Wm. C. de Mille 
Roi Cooper Megrue 
Edward E. Rose 
Israel Zangwill 
Henry Bernstein 
Harold Brighouse 
Channing Pollock 
Harry Durant 
Winchell Smith 
Margaret Mayo 
Edward Peple 
A. E. W. Mason 
Charles Klein 
Henry Arthur Jones 
A. E. Thomas 
Fred. Ballard 
Cyril Harcourt 
Carlisle Moore 
Ernest Denny 
Laurence Housman 
Harry James Smith 
Edgar Selwyn 
Augustin McHugh 
Robert Housum 
Charles Kenyon 
C. M. S. McLellan 



French's International Copyrighted Edition con- 
tains plays, comedies and farces of international 
reputation ; also recent professional successes by 
famous American and English Authors. 
Send a four-cent stamp for our new catalogue 
describing thousands of plays. 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Oldest Play Publisher in the World 
28-30 West 38th Street, NEW YORK CITY 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



